Today's poem is by James Doyle
After the Harvest
We step over and between apples
that grow smaller and smaller on the floor.
Someday we will sweep the dry specks
away. A broom that has never
been used leans against the wall.
Its spider broods about vanishing flies.
Bananas by the bunch kill time
in the corners. They dial up what
numbers they have: green, splashy,
black. How many days has it been
since our hunger was declared surplus
and sold to storehouses like this?
Not just each other nothing is touchable
anymore. If we leave the door open
for the ants, they will only circle
us dark little exorcists in a ring.
A universe wants its beginning back.
The web is a skeleton of itself.
The thinner we become, the fuller
we feel. Only if we squirrel ourselves
away, can we get through another winter.
Copyright © 2004 James Doyle All rights reserved
from Einstein Considers a Sand Dune
Steel Toe Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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