Outside my window, the pale forearms
of sea mist climb trees with childlike
vigor. Smoke skims from chimneys,
There is nothing to depend upon,
except each impossible change.
A tabby hunts a sparrow, whose beak
plunders a rooftop gutter.
Another life surrendered. I rummage
through the closet of my mind,
find only a basket of longing
piled higher than morning. Every
prayer begins with I am here,
more declaration than disturbance.
I am here, and meteors explode
this very moment—a white foam
glittering in the over sky. I am here,
and children are punctured by bullets.
A glacier’s final calving.
How do I slow everything down?
The skin on my hands
loosens nightly, moribund by myth
and belief. There’s nothing to see
and everything to be seen.
We could die today.
Paola Bruni began writing poetry in 2016 after a long marketing career. Pushcart nominated, her work has been published in a variety of literary journals including Ploughshares, The Southern Review, Adroit and elsewhere. She is the winner of the Morton Marcus Poetry Prize and the Muriel Craft Bailey Poetry Prize.
