The Atlantic
A Poem by Jill Bialosky: 'Cleanup'
Published: Jul 16, 2023
Crawled: Sep 11, 2023 at 5:11 PM
Length: 99 words
Article Content
A poem for Sunday They wont stop. Leaves, slick, wet Curled around shrubs, blanketing the funeral garden where ravens rest. Why am I married to longing & lament? Id like to slap the face of my unseemly devotion. Wake up. Dont be afraid. Wag your beauty like a dirty dog. Trees shed their pious costumes. Wind unfurls & as if in ecstasy more scatter to mock my loyalty. Yes, cleanups messy, imperfect, a disaster. My limbs hurt. My back aches. One minute its dark, sun hiding behind maples bark; the next the light is fixed, like a shattered heart.
Article Details
- Article ID
- 8031
- Article Name
- 674725
- Date Published
- Jul 16, 2023
- Date Crawled
- Sep 11, 2023 at 5:11 PM
- Newspaper Website
- theatlantic.com