Through and Through
And what about mistakes? That someone
was hurt makes a difference, doesn’t it?
Like the one who keeps going on,
long after his time has come, thick rain
clouds gathering. Heat spilling. You can
stop now, you know that? she said,
gripping. I’ve loved long enough to know
that’s only half-true. Every now and then,
a soaking rain and thunder fills
the treetops. How far do you think we need
to walk before we sit, and rest? Come here,
she told me, not for much longer.
Off the Coast, Passing
Love, persistence. First do no harm.
You know, it’s not wrong to wonder
how you missed it, quiet rain falling
hard, already. There were signs, how
you can often tell, by where trees lie
on forest floors, that a storm passed
through, pulling roots from the soil,
burning scars in fallen bark. That is,
if you look closely, we’re wounded.
Nothing’s so strong as you imagine.
Or very little.
At Night, the Clouds
for William Mbongo and Allison LaHood
At some point, adventure and safety come
to be almost the same thing, like the sound
rain makes against the tin roof, in summers
back home. Or lightning, through windows.
Some days go by with enough to say
about pain and worry. Threat of thunderstorms,
the odd tornado. Life is more than what’s kept safe,
but some things
are worth keeping. How there is such a thing as rain
so tumultuous it puts you to sleep, or after the storm
when a twilight fills up the trees, and its brightening
turns to evening
Aldis H. Petriceks is a poet and physician in Massachusetts. His poems appear or are forthcoming in Third Wednesday, Bear Review, and Pineberry Literary Journal.
Innisfree 43
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