By Aaron Thom
Permanent as the Sun
Zested,
the plastic mini lemon
flecks
nonperishable
flakes,
warms the earth
in yellow splinters
indifferent to
field or lake.
Gagging itself
insoluble,
permanent
as the sun,
it lasts until
it lasts until
it gloms on itself
again
and does not
will not
cannot—
would melt but can't—
decompose.
When we waved Fred good-bye
When Fred died it
cratered us.
Some sank lower than
others—
those on the rim
suddenly leaning
balanceless
into
those in the center—
but all dropped
and when we hit the low
in union,
our knees
cracking
a hymn
of mourning together
in different
keys,
as we waved
our hands
forward
then
back,
to equipoise—keep
from falling,
there arose a
cyclonic
wind.
But some of us
capsized,
soft at the joints,
quick
down
the knees
planted
posh, posh
into the dirt—
the hands
leaping forward
out of
instinct
to stop the body,
the head following
the hands,
but slowly
by inertia,
as though in prayer.
By: Aaron Thom
Aaron Thom is a Minneapolis Attorney specializing in criminal defense, civil litigation, property tax litigation, and internal investigations.