You are a dot of oil
That refused my water.
Borne into this world,
We took you by the river out back,
Dragged the water down your
Forehead, and held you close.
You should have been my mirror.
I should have seen in you myself
And stopped the resurgence of
those sins of my absent father.
So there’s distance, now.
All the parts of you I used to know
Stretch out in their own topography,
Clear and formed.
Yet the new you dips into dark, hidden
Valleys which I’ll never find.
I don’t know you anymore.
But I wonder every day if I can
bury my hands in the river out back
and pull from it another you
and cry out that I’m ready for
About the Poet
Terry Banks spent his life as a miner. Now in the evening of his life, he has found a passion for art.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.