FragLit

an online magazine of fragmentary writing

::

Solitude

Fall 2010 :: Current Issue

2010 :: Issue 7/Fall :: Solitude

Tonight

Theresa Williams

In the pond last spring,
a lone bluegill swam
among minnows.

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Tonight the dog
lets out a low moan.
Sssh, it’s only the roof leaking.

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Rainy tires
swish on Highway 6.
I have nowhere to go.

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Remember the book
about insects, parents & god.

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Outside on the bush,
a clump of blackberries
birds never found.

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On my chair
a dead moth in tattered coat.

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Dark cupcake
cools
on white napkin.

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Wild things sleep
this rainy night
in a temple of weeds.

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Is the mantis cold
in its cocoon
on the bare stalk?

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More wood on the fire!
Oh, my hair smells of smoke.

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Living & dying are one.
All is one.

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Charred bones from
the trash pit
fashioned into chimes.
click, click, click

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You can still sing
even if you can’t carry a tune.

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Outside—
Dogprints in the mud.
How lucky.

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We are the eyes
of the world.

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Your bed is waiting.

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What is in your pocket,
Antonio Machado.
Forgive me,
haven’t read you in so long.

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