Study for ‘Terrarium,’ 19X25, John Brosio
A True Moment
mothers run over their sons
by accident, and there’s nothing you can do
but say you’re sorry, and how sorry, or glance at a sky every now
and again or take a walk through a city. Swim in the ocean.
Compose a poem using dust and light.
Walk in and out of a room
through a door.
A place where milk is plentiful.
The color is of bone.
When left undrank, it goes.
Where teeth, razored on wind,
seep easy into flesh. As deep
as necessary. Turning.
A place opulent with yes. Extravagant with no.
Needy and capable and eyes. From nowhere.
Where misunderstandings occur daily,
nightly we go.
The magnolia tree blooms before me and is real;
blooms slow, petals shaped as purple-white coquina shells;
tips browned by rain and oxygen.
Soon I’ll find them.
Gone. Dispersed into everything;
Your daughter’s hair. Someone’s laughter.
A true moment, perhaps, of understanding, of
acceptance of the temporal, even if temporal.
Our love and fear of the possible.