We killed him with
smashed his head. It took many
blows to split his skull and find
his last thought
flew away in an instant and we followed
up the mountain. We fired the trees
on the way, kicked the rocks back to life
danced in the ash
made water gush
came to mind as we fried.
Is the Size Relative Pondered the Smallest
Father! Your stone is harder than before
you say it is the settling, finding level ground.
It is pitiless to cast it render. I am too close--
You say to flee, that with distance I can hold the stone
between thumb and forefinger and see its truth.
"Not yet" I say, needs be constant, which time alone
The welt where your finger depressed, harbors
ingratitude, minions the like you never dreamed.
Their cities, monuments to brash tenacity, their dead heaps
testament that in the end their will, not be, undone and we
overcome. On wings they take the heavens, brazen insects
who broaden horizons, see further, landscapes innumerably
by their standards! Even in this while the dam fills, lifeboats
are built from leaves and spittle and more lands overtaken.
Copyright © 2005 Joan McCormick