After Loss

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

 

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