At first, she’s tiny,
the size of a bucket, then soon
my grief is everybody’s darling,
a curly-haired toddler and into
everything. The dirt. Purses and pockets,
my eyes like sharp
sunlight. I boost her
into the gravedigger’s wheelbarrow,
hold on, I say, and we get
a rolling belly-laugh as I
give her a bouncy-ride across a row
of grassy mounds. Spent, I stumble
and she tumbles onto the fresh
lawn and won’t get up. I can’t leave
her. Such a brat. Just like you.
I gather her all floppy
in my arms, like wrestling a squid,
and then she goes dead-
weight, too heavy, and I
have to lay her down again like a chilly
bouquet. Splayed out, she says, now sit
beside me and watch, forever, as I
collect rain and pretend to be a nice pond.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 4.
John Morrison’s most recent book, Monkey Island, was published by Redbat Books. His book, Heaven of the Moment, won the 2006 Rhea & Seymour Gorsline Poetry Competition and was a finalist for the 2008 Oregon Book Award in poetry. His work has appeared in numerous journals, including the Beloit Poetry Journal, Cimarron Review, Poetry Northwest, and Rhino. He leads poetry discussion groups for Soapstone, teaches as an Associate Fellow for the Attic Institute, and is an editor for the Comstock Review.
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