I do not remember the exact date,
but I won’t forget the smell of rain still in the screen door
and the man on the other side
trying to catch his breath
How could a man, barnacled as rock
at low tide, rank as seaweed,
have a story worth listening to
by a prince enamored of the moon?
We’d just discovered a new word—necropolis—
and now we wanted a city of the dead
of our own. But it was too hard digging life-size
trenches, so we settled for the flower garden
our mother wouldn’t need anymore.
With Aeneas in a Time of Plague by Christopher Bursk Ragged Sky Press (July 5, 2021) $15.00. 98 pages . I believe every poet has a good reason why they … Continue reading
The first week in the first year of the plague,
when we told ourselves there was no plague,
the flowers were more than willing
to confirm our opinion.
when I was a child
I wanted with all my heart to be the one