"They Say Everything can be replaced"
(Bob Dylan)
Starting yesterday, I cannot find my sunglasses.
I expect this to continue for a while. The hopeless
sphere no longer shines through the window.
Until evening, the gray is unmoved.
Starting yesterday, gold runs past the stars,
crying for yellow. A scent rising out of sunlight
and salt wakes the island and everyone keeps asking,
why—or why did—
I expect this to end
never but I reserve the right to say, why not?
Starting yesterday, no one can stop my brother
from saying, Andrew shot himself today,
his hueless voice without warm-up or filter, one
moment thickening to fill the air of the quiet car.
Starting yesterday, the keys are in the other
pocket but I do not remember having changed
out of the blue jeans and into the black ones.
Copyright © Gale Batchelder . White Whale Review, issue 2.2