So as Not to Forget

Painting by Charyll



So as Not to Forget


1

The clouds gather stones to mark
the passage of days, waiting until the smell of grey
overwhelms. Wind rubs against grit, feels
it on its palm-skin and complains. The taste of rain
drowns the noise. Stone falls to dirt, joining.
These are not clouds, anymore. But let us not speak
of absolutes. Johnny done tore his ass. That’s why
his jeans don’t fit nomore. I don’t breathe
when I jump; the trick is knowing
when I’ve landed.

2

The red dirt of consciousness hoards
its wealth. Stones float. You think Old Johnny lies?
You will come to learn the truth: sputtering clouds,
when accosted, reveal their stones afin de ne pas
l’oublier. They will fall. Wait, as the clouds, as the tailors,
as must we all; wait.
Wait.
Wait.


C.L.Bledsoe

Posted over on Hamilton Stone Review