his war words
she say his language of war
be the same
as his language of peace
words of a desperate brother
embodied as if in two men
they be like one another as two beans
not sisters of oneness like we
she say this chorus sings duality
like a gong harmonizes silence
echoing eternal song
for two hours trade a peace
we cannot understand
for a war that we do
she say the idea there is duality
to the Great One
the focal point of a lens
You can’t imagine what you can’t imagine
Then there was the day I caught you
bi-locating in the kitchen,
you standing there in your fuzzy red nightgown,
another you crouching in pajamas
putting cinnamon rolls in the oven.
When I spoke my amazement
neither of you seemed concerned.
The you in the fuzzy red nightgown
placed arms around my neck.
The you in pajamas merely moved
an interested eye in my direction
and you said with a smile
I am not as horizon-stuck as you.
- first published in Saint Ann’s Review
Barry Harris is editor of the Tipton Poetry Journal and has published one poetry collection, Something At The Center. His poetry has appeared in Kentucky Review, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Grey Sparrow, Silk Road Review, Saint Ann’s Review, Boston Literary Magazine, Night Train, Silver Birch Press, Flying Island, Awaken Consciousness, Writers’ Bloc, and Red-Headed Stepchild.
Married and father of two grown sons, Barry lives in Brownsburg, Indiana and is retired from Eli Lilly and Company. He graduated a long time ago with a major in English from Ball State University.