Menu

 
   
..:: CONTENTS ::..
   Volume VIII, Issue II

..:: POETRY ::..


..:: PROSE ::..

..:: ETC ::..
   Contributor's Notes

..:: ARCHIVES ::..
   Volume I, Issue I
   Volume I, Issue II
   Volume II, Issue I
   Volume II, Issue II
   Volume III, Issue I
   Volume III, Issue II
   Volume IV, Issue I
   Volume IV, Issue II
   Volume V, Issue I
   Volume V, Issue II
   Volume VI, Issue I
   Volume VI, Issue II
   Volume VII, Issue I
   Volume VII, Issue II
   Volume VIII, Issue I

 
Poetry


The Second Fall
Justin Runge

 

The bomb, as it lands
in a movie, sucks up
all sound. The bomb,
as it lands like a leaf,
with a dawdling waft.
As it lands on a roof
like an acorn at night.
As it lands at our feet,
out of the blue, before
the wedding shower.
Lands inopportunely,
near the anniversary,
a fluke, September.
As it lands, we gawk.
We gape and quake.
The bomb, as it lands
that afternoon, sends
an elm-shaped plume
of world into the sky
and a debris of plans
drift back, like leaves.
We forget, over winter,
how they'll grow again
on the left-there limbs.

 

 

//   Advance   //