worry is in trees tonight and life is
still unloved like the ten speed in the garage.
the moon, gibbous and circumspect, seems oddly
romantic. everything wears time thinner and the good life
of the grass in the yard, greedy and green,
is soft and complete. maybe each blade believes
there is something in them that speaks to god,
some rope between their pointing hearts and
the fingering gospel that sometimes cuts them
down.
in this way, the earth is just our fish
swimming in baffling humanness— turning
a peppermint with our tongues as beauty
outlasts our wanting to be beautiful.
About the Creator
Keep reading
More stories from Thomas Mattson and writers in Poets and other communities.
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team7 days ago in Resources
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.