FOR MENDY
The fatigue of feast,
the umbrellas and the
suits and ties, the
thunder of it,
floating into panther
fatness full
the checkmarks
that accompany the page
the gluttony of flower prints,
the tight skin of the sterile pear
gone spawned, consumed,
in leaf
no more lamb chops for you,
no more scrambled eggs and greens,
no more aardvark statues,
no more American flags,
no more caterpillars to
torch out of the trees,
cut wood, dead wood,
white pine branches,
drooping cypri,
dog asleep under the brush
also gone,
sun gone in the gray
swimming hole a stage prop,
water from the creek
feeding agile garlic greens in May
whose wallet, whose welfare,
whose heart, whose feathers,
whose darkness is the
darkness of a missing bird,
a tunnel of mind, an income of
herbaceous bruise, who is
and who is not, voracious
braeken gone.
from Night ScenesFind more by Lisa Jarnot at the library
Copyright © 2008 Lisa Jarnot
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.