by Richard Dinges, Jr.
Generations In that long pause between generations, we age and gain knowledge that replaces hair and muscle tone until we know how little we know and that next set of people swells bellies and burst out into a cold room with that strangled shout and fresh strain against gravity while I settle back into soft cushions ready to watch those new legs run. Fisher Woman A small boat cradles her, floats in a small pond under a large dim sky that reveals no future. She holds a long pole, waits for a fish to take her bait. Alone and patient, she sits very still. Her desire is a large fish, to show she can catch a large fish on her own, without help. She will reel in this fish and ponder the shimmer of water that runs in sheets down its scales and drips. She will feel its weight she is able to hold up on her own, and then she will know her decision. She will decide what to keep and what to eat, and what to give away, that power to choose on her own, alone, her own very large fish. Farewell Flowers have shed petals, tiny bits of color spread across dry grass. Shadows are thin remnants, cower beneath leafless tree limbs that groan in cold wind’s arms. I shudder my eyes to sun’s silent distance, flutter through shortened days, prolong this final moment when I can bare myself to warmth that retreats faster than I can run. Detritus Detritus dimples a dark clay shore after storm abates and waves calm into gentle slaps across footprints with well-defined claws that emerge in negative space and pulls me down to where I first emerged millennia ago a hollow-boned piece of spongy foam newly formed for a harsh breath of empty air. Grandson Wizened head a bare handful, swaddled in woven colors, my forearm a cradle, I look into this tiny portal that opens into a future held behind his closed eyes, all that thought yet to grow from a tiny seed he holds back from me and my only job is to hold him gently and not let him fall. Generations In that long pause between generations, we age and gain knowledge that replaces hair and muscle tone until we know how little we know and that next set of people swells bellies and burst out into a cold room with that strangled shout and fresh strain against gravity while I settle back into soft cushions ready to watch those new legs run. Fisher Woman A small boat cradles her, floats in a small pond under a large dim sky that reveals no future. She holds a long pole, waits for a fish to take her bait. Alone and patient, she sits very still. Her desire is a large fish, to show she can catch a large fish on her own, without help. She will reel in this fish and ponder the shimmer of water that runs in sheets down its scales and drips. She will feel its weight she is able to hold up on her own, and then she will know her decision. She will decide what to keep and what to eat, and what to give away, that power to choose on her own, alone, her own very large fish. Farewell Flowers have shed petals, tiny bits of color spread across dry grass. Shadows are thin remnants, cower beneath leafless tree limbs that groan in cold wind’s arms. I shudder my eyes to sun’s silent distance, flutter through shortened days, prolong this final moment when I can bare myself to warmth that retreats faster than I can run. Detritus Detritus dimples a dark clay shore after storm abates and waves calm into gentle slaps across footprints with well-defined claws that emerge in negative space and pulls me down to where I first emerged millennia ago a hollow-boned piece of spongy foam newly formed for a harsh breath of empty air. Grandson Wizened head a bare handful, swaddled in woven colors, my forearm a cradle, I look into this tiny portal that opens into a future held behind his closed eyes, all that thought yet to grow from a tiny seed he holds back from me and my only job is to hold him gently and not let him fall.
Richard Dinges, Jr. lives and works by a pond among trees and grassland, along with his wife, two dogs, three cats, and ten chickens. Home Planet News, The Journal, Eureka Literary Magazine, Cardinal Sins, and Caveat Lector most recently accepted his poems for their publications.
RUNDELANIA 