Brushes With The Dark Law

 Two poems to be published in ANTAE: a journal of creative writing in Spring, 2025.

The Elders

… smile insouciantly,
though they sweeten the day
when you walk by and mostly
ignore their slow movements.
You catch their eyes briefly
and you both nod as though
some recognition were possible.
 
They’ve tricked you.
You think their smile is a form of ignorance.
But behind your back they gather
to laugh at your own end,
at the destruction of ego
to come in the fire they fuel
quietly.
 
They move slowly
so you will not notice
this rebellion
in their disappearing bodies.
 
 

Before Winter

A registered letter arrives. He tosses it on the laptop.
It’s August, no need to open it yet, he reasons.
 
He wants to open the letter in time, with care.
He suspects seasons will fall out.
 
Spring, green and itchy.
Summer, sweaty and exhausting.
 
Fall, illuminating the body’s sadness.
Winter, the deep unknowing skin.
 
He knows he’s wrong about time --
now that the sunlight falls on its side.
 
He’ll never make it to winter solstice,
but he pretends the days lengthen.
 
He rolls seasons up like sleeves,
and marches up his made-up hill.
 
He thinks the lie we all will tell is hard work.
We say it’s a letter opener, but it’s a murder weapon.
 
Then the letter opens on its own
and the days he does not live spill out.