Living in Lines He Carries Nothing
The man you knew is fading,
withdrawing into memory’s
specimen jar. A fatal flower. One
dried scorpion. Another late glass
of pinot. He carries nothing with him
but words. Living in lines on the page,
he listens to the sotol stalks rasping
sad farewells at night, their peace
interrupted by cicadas droning in
the trees. He wants to be seen
before he dies. Thinking hurts, he says.
I depend on pain that won’t vanish
or forget its purpose. I do not want.
“Living in Lines He Carries Nothing” was published in fall 2019 in the print anthology Through Layered Limestone: A Texas Hill Country Anthology of Place. I am grateful to editors d. ellis phelps, Lucy Griffith, Darlene Logan, Donna Peacock and Mobi Warren for taking this and three other pieces.
O at the Edges 
” The man you knew is fading,
withdrawing into memory’s
specimen jar” That’s sad but lovely.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks very much, Paula.
LikeLike
Such a powerful yet beautiful piece!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Lynda.
LikeLike
I really like your beautiful blog. A pleasure to come stroll on your pages. A great discovery and a very interesting blog. I will come back to visit you. Do not hesitate to visit my universe. See you soon.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I’ll be sure to visit your universe.
LikeLiked by 1 person