Mudlark No. 48 (2012)


Tristesse, tristezza, Traurigkeit, smutek—
lips pucker and swell at the thought of it,
the weather ceasing to throb where clouds drift
and separate, ghastly fingers: silence 
in the middle of a lake—all around 
us the great herons are gliding to shore.
They stare on one leg into the shallows, 
snip out algae-stained creatures who never 
harmed more than a worm or two, just as we
wonder how it was that we asked for so 
little to just breathe.  A racket coming 
from the highway, smothering exhaust of 
truck rigs, flags flapping, mobile homes in tow,
wide load, our last childhood memory of snow. 

John Allman | The Trotsky/Stalin Sonnet
Contents | Mudlark No. 48 (2012)