Menu

Poetry

Nothing quite rhymes like time
to kill and this long, clingstone schooling—
reason traitorous, the season a bomb
of decoy mimosa, birdscree, the pool

under shattering low leaves, God
saying now. I’m not sure
I’ll ever be ready. Will I go easy,
nail from a rotted board, splinter

pulled from a foot surprised & bare
as I came, legs wrapped around—?
Love trumps pain is the lesson with which
I’m out of my mind. The sun’s going down

slow, in our language. I thank its freighted skull.
As though any other life were possible.


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

[Almost nothing happened…]

By

Michel Houellebecq

Minium

By

Melissa Range

Once

By

Kathleen Wakefield

It Began with the Beginning: Alopecia Areata

By

Tara Bray

Pin It on Pinterest