5" x 7" cherry wood block print on Somerset
with Graphic Chemical bone-black ink.
October afternoon, and still I wait
For you to re-appear. “It isn’t fair.”
You told me. “Why am I the only one
To have to suffer?” Silently, I want
Exploding stars, and black volcanic ash
To cover up the world. Instead I get
The northern lights and melancholy whales,
Spring flowers growing in the cracked-clay dirt,
And ruby-throated hummingbirds, and bees.
Whatever happened? In a thoughtless world
The rainbows are supposed to all turn grey
While scorpions of frightful size attack.
Guitars and salsa music shouldn’t play,
Are inappropriate unless they’re played
With broken strings.
But nothing, nothing’s changed.
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