His aluminum cane clicks!
clicks! As he walks the hall,
the sound of a camera shutter
closing on all the light, swallows it.
The rod, a pick like a paper one
used in parks, it punctuates
silence as it hits ground, collects
seconds of a life, keeps it tidy.
Soon one hand will become
two hands as he uses a walker,
like a gate before him which
bar will rise one day, open.
The forsythia branches
curve with the clash of
swords as spring fights
winter back like pirates
fought over a bobbing ship’s
domain in a clamourous sea.
Bent in the arc of a twiggy bow,
the bush shoots out sparks of
buds to win back a season.
The singed cusp of Icarus’s wing,
we now all yearn to fly too close
to the sun, even if we perish by fire.
Nancy Anne Miller is a Bermudian poet with six poetry books: Somersault (Guernica Editions 2015), Because There Was No Sea (Anaphora Literary Press 2014), Immigrant’s Autumn (Aldrich Press 2014), Water Logged (Aldrich Press 2016) and Star Map (Future Cycle Press. 2016) Island Bound Mail (Kelsay Books 2017.) Boiling Hot is forthcoming (Kelsay Books 2018)
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