It might start with a phone call.
They had to do it. She lost control
of her bowels. Dignity and carpeting
demanded it. You might find,
young as you are, a meaning in this,
a direction, but Daphne is done.
Outside, there is only a tree,
by which I mean a giant, exposed lung
held up high to fill with air
and whatever air contains.
You are facing two different things
with no discernible connection.
You can’t decide what doesn’t change.
Donald Zirilli’s poetry has been published in River Styx, Art Times, Nerve Lantern, Specs, Anima, Iota, Antiphon, Innisfree and other literary magazines and anthologies. He was the editor of Now Culture and the art editor of The Shit Creek Review, and is currently one of the Rutherford Red Wheelbarrow Gang of Five. He and his wife, Dr. Russell, live in Tranquility, New Jersey, with 2 dogs and 3 cats.
Eunoia Review 