He longs to nail down their summer to the ceiling of the floor
as a little boy impales butterflies
for history’s window dressing
And growing weary of their station, he takes them once more into his
hands, stares at them, the unbroken image of a life caught in stasis, of beauty entombed-
waits for them to echo back their breathless inertia
She longs to pick apples warmed by the sun
to hide them in her coat
bring them home for show and tell
Though she never eats them, she takes time arranging each one
Honey-sweet porcelain idols
resplendent, the light finds them all
The two of them found each other in the waning fever of August
And already they swear allegiance
to what cannot be sealed.
She says to him, “Darling, don’t move
For the light now, it hits you just so,
the apple of my own eye.”
So, he kneels inside a strange fire
which leaves him only love’s carbon,
draws something out and pins her to an unseen wall forever
About the Poet
Though born in California, Robert F. Root calls the Pacific Northwest his home. A writer, musician and visual artist since youth, Robert served as well, for five years, as co-founder and assistant director for Deep Waters, a Puget Sound region poetry venue, hosting published and emerging voices alike. He manages Lionsong Creative Communications, an organization dedicated to helping others achieve growth through better writing and public speaking. Robert’s greatest joy in life is his son, Collin.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.