a box of antipathy in a garden of what if's

a box of antipathy in a garden of what if's

 

 

crosses upon a shelf

the rosary reality

two Hail Mary's short of a bead of water

a droplet from a heaven's cloud

 

he is immersed in confusion

always knew his rain would come

but finds the drizzled parchment

bleeding words of stone

 

from a faith

he buried years ago

in the back yard of his parents' house

blocks from where he lies now (maybe to himself)

 

getting drenched in torrential

dust,

the red clay of morning

at his feet

 

a psalm pinching his cuff

the tie a bit crooked

hands folded,

he stares up at nothing

 

wondering if he really did

make his own bed,

and if roses would grow here

if he prayed hard enough.

 

 

erin-cilberto

3/25/15

Reviews

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

Absolutely stellar and profoundly moving writing in this poem j. I would love to hear this spoken and/or orchestrated and sung. From beginning to end this poem is crushingly honest, brilliant, insightful, honest, beautifully constructed and penned. The religious references are filled with pain and pathos. You are the Master Wordsmith of language, word-play, simile, metaphor. This intensely personal poem easily stands with the icons of poetry. I applaud you fervently my friend.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your very kind review, Annette...
j.