Child of Fear What deity is a child of fear whose mien is cluttered under a tear? When he laughs it rains remorse, tulip tree blossoms scatter in the wind. He pulls a cart down the road. His sister is seated on its rusty frame. He passes the neighboring cottages blindly dragging the thing as if it were a sack of regret. He leaves his sister stretched out under the shade of a maple and sets out to recall the agony of a summer breeze.
Memories
They swarm like insects peppering the air before us, getting caught in the mouth or in the corners of eyes, darkening what lies ahead. Like fish in water, massive clouds of remembrance descending, ascending, turning left then right they await a good feeding on the bones of the present. They cling to objects of the mind like dust to smooth wet surfaces, robbing desire of its object, opening thoughts to run like spigots and language to itch like a scabbing wound. But most of all they are like fat pigeons perched on the great sloping rooftop of the past, resting comfortably alongside a silent plastic owl, an effigy of weakness and dismay. They are everywhere and at all times there.
Beartoe Johnson
Umbriate Press Poetry 