keara doory

 

paint smeared across

the infinite canvas of the sky

as rendered by the weeping fingers

of a four year old

 

everything is so distinct

so perfectly placed

"this is the beauty of being dead"

 

my feet are the only guide i need

 

i am absorbed in the warmth

of the cold air and the stability

of the trees and the utter emptiness

of the world that breathes

thousands of miles away

 

 

 

 

hopelesness

 

i watched your tiny feet

clumsily trip after your dad

following to your 98 pontiac

your eyes blankly stare down

the ground a cloudy fusion:

tv dinners

smoky house

wal mart

 

child, your blue eyes

remind me of

still water lain next to a highway

 

 

 

 

50 percent of marriages end in divorce

and the other half end in death

 

polaroid pictures are out dated

as are drive in movie theaters

 

the infinite view from mountaintops evokes

insignificance, loneliness, no matter who it's shared with

 

you keep a box of love letters that he wrote you

from high school to college to marriage

 

probably because your presence in each other's lives is

one of the few things that hasn't changed over the years.

 

 

William Scarfone