The Real Question
I ask myself why I mourn
what has not yet
occurred. Will that last fledgling
fly or will a snake swallow
its gravity before descending
to a separate end? Coffee
darkens the carafe and an egg
poaches amidst the scent of basil.
Sprinkling parmesan on buttered
toast, I wonder where to unearth
the real question, when to look
into its eye. How to read its grief.
“The Real Question” was first published in After the Pause in June 2019. Thank you, Michael Prihoda, for accepting this piece.
O at the Edges 
Such a sharply distilled beauty, Bob.
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Thank you, Cate. My days are made of those little moments. 🙂
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I think as the end draws closer it creates a sadness in all of us. Maybe just best not to look it in the eye until one is ready!
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I’ve looked it in the eye once, but would prefer to delay the next viewing for quite some time… 🙂
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Yes!
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Really powerful this, Robert. Also made me hungry!
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These days I seem to be perpetually hungry. 🙂
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Don’t look into it’s eye, but don’t turn away from it either, be with it. Stunning poem as usual, thank you.
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Thanks very much, Robyn. It’s good to hear from you. I truly won’t turn away. It’s not in my nature, or at least it no longer is.
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Oh, yes… And, when you discover that answer, please, oh please, do share…
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I’d guess it will be one of those open, unanswered questions…
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