Study for ‘Terrarium,’ 19X25, John Brosio
A True Moment
Sometimes
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.
Our solitude.
______________
Eli Holley