There’s No Ignoring It Now

BY JEREMY MICHAEL CLARK

For days, doubt struck as does lightning
across the span of night. Illuminated that way,

how did we cross the river? One stone, 
then another. The silence between us a keyhole 

through which I peeked & found you teasing
off your robe. Love? If it exists,

it’s the uncertainty one feels before a thunderclap,
after the sky’s gone dark again. O prick

of hope—I am too numb. The stir of weaker
creatures seeking safety: from afar, one could

call it beautiful. Even if you can’t,
I recall those mornings, the dappled light

spat across my cheeks. When you disrobed
before the window, whose eyes did you hope to catch: 

mine, or your own, reflected in the glass?
Before the owl swoops in & snatches it up, 

before it’s dead, when a lone mouse hesitates,
then steps into the clearing, is that faith, 

                                               or foolishness?
  

Jeremy Michael Clark‘s poems have appeared in The Southern Review, Poem-a-Day, West Branch, Poetry Northwest, and elsewhere. He received an MFA from Rutgers University-Newark. Born and raised in Louisville, Kentucky, he lives in Brooklyn.

[Purchase Issue 22 here.]

There’s No Ignoring It Now

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