2010 :: Issue 6/Spring :: Micro Essays
Holding Fog
Alexis Rotella
At every turn
the dream
that wants me
to write it
down
::
Like holding fog
this grey cashmere scarf
I found at Goodwill
::
Scarecrow gone
but the crucifix
still stands
::
The wind
has come to sculpt
the snow
::
A bell the shape of a child is ringing.
::
Pouring rain
at midnight
a hearse stops
in front of a neighbor’s house
and waits
::
All winter
that one leaf
that won’t let go
::
The beauty of a fragment is that it’s there but not there.
::
Chinatown
every face
alone
::
Melt me winter says to spring.
::
Flying across country
I read Thoreau
in a cloud
::
She doesn’t please me at all
the people pleaser
::
What is a pomegranate if not a geode?
::
Before the concert
peep
of a pitch pipe
::
In the midst
of missing him
mosquitoes
::
Tree rings
saying hello
from long ago
::
While we talk he woks.
::
Mourning doves
an ancient
ache
::
Slowly
the incense unwinds
like a serpent
that has slept
a thousand years
::
Spring wind
I kneel
on the soft earth
and wrap my arms
around myself
::
Moths
nibble
at the night
::
Computer keyboard my word piano.
::
With a match
he ignites
one end of my shadow
and watches it
burn away
::
House quiet
I fold into full lotus
and cry
::
Digging for facts while fragments just appear.
::
As I reach to water
the fern
a sheet of falling light
::
I treasure
the stone
you threw at me
::
The snail making lace.
::
At the top
of the Ferris Wheel
lilac scent
::
Abandoned farmhouse
lace curtains blowing
out the window
::
A tulip opens…
mandala