Patricia Clark: “While Two Wars Rage”
WHILE TWO WARS RAGE
I line them up—four paperweights.
Hummingbird, bee, nautilus shell, almond branch.
What story of me do they tell?
They crouch on my windowsill in sunlight.
Hummingbird, bee, nautilus, branch.
The year’s losses and griefs add up.
They’re crouching on my windowsill in sunlight
asking how can I complain of a lightning strike?
After the year’s losses and wounds added up,
the tornado blowing through, the fall I took,
isn’t it selfish to complain of a lightning strike?
Other people fear incoming missiles or bombs.
A tornado went ripping through, and I tripped, fell.
What story can objects now possibly tell?
Other people endure explosions of missiles and bombs.
Still, I line them up—four paperweights.
Patricia Clark is the author of Self-Portrait with a Million Dollars, her sixth book of poems, and three chapbooks, including Deadlifts. She has recent work in Southern Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, and Nelle.