
Once I carried you
like a jug
on top of one shoulder,
but my arm was weak,
my hand failing,
so you ran like water.
Now when I am alone
and think of your life,
I search through ink
my hand tries to speak
lost down cracks in the paper.
About the Poet
Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, and works in mental health. He has contributed to Heartwood, Sheila-Na-Gig, Williwaw Journal, Red Wolf Journal, and Clerestory. He won the 2017 Cold Mountain Review Poetry Prize.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
I love the beautiful first stanza. Short but sweet!