The Weight of Yesterday
Like a fish trap woven from grasses,
It allows passage of the element
In which it is suspended.
Like the light at Lascaux,
It is transparent
And dissolves as salt does on the tongue.
A fragile filament of graphite
Or three columbine seeds,
Or a dime would tip the scales.
Rolled between your fingers,
It crumbles like a dried sage leaf
To fragrant dust wind disperses.
You wonder how such a small thing,
Removed as if a mote from your eye,
Could have caused such irritation.
Held in your palm, it is a smidgen,
An iota, a whit, nothing
A tear could not wash away.
New England Review Volume 34, Number 1 / 2013
Volume 34, Number 1 / 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Eric Pankey
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission