Arc
for Richard
Ma’d rave
how a dead possum fell
from a rotten dogwood
the day she brought you home from St. Bartholomew’s.
A bad mark, she’d say, in the Book of Vengeance.
When I revisit the forced rhymes of our childhood,
I’m leveled by lies, hate-storm,
barbed couplets piled in a white grave.
I see her in dreams: Ma scattering
possum bones in the ivy, declaring our father dead.
There are rooms I never leave
no matter how far I wander.
Decades & still that mockingbird in the twilight
moans until my heart is stupefied.
When I put that gun to my temple,
I was playing.
You weren’t.
John Amen is the author of five collections of poetry, including Illusion of an Overwhelm, a finalist for the 2018 Brockman-Campbell Award. His work has appeared recently in American Literary Review, RHINO, Prairie Schooner, and Prism. He founded and is managing editor of Pedestal Magazine.
←previous next →
