Today's poem is by Suzanne Edison

Still Life Without Skull
       

The infusions were pulsed too fast,
and the doctor admitted her mistake,
but the jackhammering in my child's head
went on for days, not to be medicated away.
I watched my girl writhe on the floor like a worm
cut in half, and felt I was a captive in a new,
infernal circle. And though I can't see
or hold death in my arms, it ticks
in us; I think of old Dutch paintings
thick with vermillion, pomegranates,
over-ripe grapes blooming
from true black. Half-eaten meats house
a congregation of flies, tenacious
strings of gristle and lemon peels dangle
over the table's edge. Here, there is no skull,
but the sparrow's eye flickers,
a watch chain in its mouth.

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Copyright © 2023 Suzanne Edison All rights reserved
from Since the House Is Burning
MoonPath Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission