By Priscilla Becker
when it was understood
it could not happen
fast or all
at once, the world
became my enclosed
space, my trial
zone—small
scrimps like the backyard
metal rake scraping
concrete rather than
one vertical
slit, or a christening
by walking
farther and farther
out—the water
trustworthy, the
edge, intimacy
the skill to
connect into one dull
flow, able to go
soundlessly,
scrupulously with no
help, and paramount, no
signal:
developing death
stamina, perfecting no
expression until
I do not need
a note
Source: Poetry (January 2020)
Poet Bio
More Poems about Living
Meanwhile
From the Sky
When I die,
bury me in the sky—
no one is fighting over it.
Children are playing soccer
with empty bomb shells
(from the sky I can see them).
A grandmother is baking
her Eid makroota and mamoul
(from the sky I can taste them).
Teens are writing love...