The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Steven Winn
Tomb Relief
Egyptian, Dynasty 25-26 The haunch of beef he’s shouldered Is the size of a scythe, its handle Tapered to a knife-point hoof. Close behind a second servant bears A tray of twenty leavened loaves Balanced in a wobbly pyramid. Each man also holds a duck, One cradled in the hand from back To keel, the other gripped so firmly By the neck the wings expand And tail flares out, each incised Feather a last wish for flight. How grand a feast was this to be, What jars and unguents, other lavishments In store for Mentuemhat’s long night? No clue from these servants’ stony eyes. And anyway, as stories sometimes do, This one shears off just beyond the haunch. Bubbles
They’re down the left field line blowing bubbles,
tearing after them, under them as they rise like aimless high fly balls toward an empty center field. No league game today, again. A sprinkler set near second base hiss-thocks a silver arc across the infield grass, greening it for whenever games resume, the men in numbered uniforms in place across the diamond. So for now they’re free, these children chasing bubbles in the park, the careful breaths they’ve caught and sent adrift to glint and shimmer in the sun-glazed sky, free to track them as they go, the frantic thrill they feel at what they’ve lost for good. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |