Trail of Crumbs

“Learn to love silence and the taste of water.” ~ Dave Bonta


There is only a column of stones
where the fireplace used to be.

What was the thunk in the night of a green body
falling from the tree? Jackfruit, or avocado?

The heady smell from the garden is strongest
at noon: red-streaked tongues of ginger lilies.

If you take a candle and look in the mirror at midnight,
the gaunt face of your future bridegroom will appear.

No one around: waking from groggy sleep after giving birth,
finding the bathroom; jellied spiral of blood on the floor.

One memory of moonlight: my mother patiently filled spaces
between large, flat stones on the walk with smaller pebbles.

The furl of a fish fin in pond water: scallop
of vanishing rouge, tip of a mossy hieroglyph.

Dry bread, still sweet, softens in a cup of amber-
colored tea. This you can drink, and eat.


In response to How to lose.

4 Replies to “Trail of Crumbs”

  1. Whew. So you can just hop up and go to work after writing something so good? It seems like you ought to fall into a coma for two weeks, and be revived then, with difficulty, by a passing king.

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