The days
nest—
precariously—
like empty
bowls.
*
A gold cigarette
butt, twisted
candy wrapper, discarded
plastic spoon, and dark,
flattened disk of gum
surround a blade
of grass growing
from a broken sidewalk,
the sprig seeming
a humble
probe of life
after
devastation, kindred spirit
to the tender
fleck of green
floating
on the quiet
pond in the spoon.
by Mark Belair
Mark Belair’s poems have appeared in numerous journals, including Alabama Literary Review, Atlanta Review, The Cincinnati Review, Harvard Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Poetry East and The South Carolina Review. His most recent collection is Breathing Room (Aldrich Press, 2015). Previous collections include Night Watch (Finishing Line Press, 2013); While We’re Waiting (Aldrich Press, 2013); and Walk With Me (Parallel Press of the University of Wisconsin at Madison, 2012). He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize three times. For more information, please visit www.markbelair.com
