Self-Portrait as the Longest Winter


When I heard about my

father’s death over the phone


the sun fell over my feet

and crumbled on the cold


tile floor it was mid-afternoon

the fan was buzzing


I was sitting on something

that had once been sticky


civilians walked past my

window like ants carrying a meal


for the first time I

felt beautiful like a river


or the light splitting over

the edge of a mountain


I felt so beautiful I forgot

that my cup was still full


and dripping with detergent

a sip turned my mouth blue


stepped me out of language

and set me rolling on fire


in the tall grass lawn

Copyright © 1999-2018 Juked