Pinpoints of Compassion
We tell ourselves, in a place like this it could never be winter—
even as an arrow of geese arcs across a skein of morning silence.
For a moment, it may be that jars were never filled with fireflies,
holes punched through metal lids showing pinpoints of compassion,
while the last blip of light fades to memory.
Froth of nature gambols as a child, her hands placed
in an imaginary soar, even as her mouth bleeds all her color out.
There has been no difference placed between us.
Winter came late this year and barely. Christmas was grey and wet.
I’m sad for endings like these. A quilting of snow will bring a certain
kind of easement, casually ruined in the seeing.
A Dawn of Dry Cereal
In a dawn of dry cereal,
still huddled in our sheets
we held knives against all the throats
calling from outside.
Your aunt owned the tract
of section 8 housing where we lived
and she called us around that morning
to look at old pictures of her naked body
posed four decades ago
in black and white.
She spoke of the man who took them;
an army guy
who became her mechanic
and something more
a guy she thought she might marry
On the back of one photo,
“I know the milk of your deepest wound…
and only my love can save it.”
above knuckled roots
spectacles of sunshine
layers of green
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart nominee and a Best of the Net nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.