"Now
there would be one less of them."
More Perihelion:
Bob Sward's Writer's Friendship Series
A
quick list to poets featured in this issue:
Outside Voices
At the still point, the moment at his throat left a mild abrasion. wet stones shine. His waxy hands he said. I’ll give you a reference. like the outside voices of children — one less of them. My old life, which was taken by one great inhalation made of me. I did not speak. I deserved. tickets, arrangements on the other end. house finch nicked at the ledge. The rectory of sun. Down below, in the chapel, I knew dimes into the candle bank, all of them
turned vivid: the priest’s white square
His shoes shone in the dark way
inspected each other. Send her away,
Outside, the voices of children sounded
muffled, unreal. Now there would be
had seemed, until that moment, new,
into the lungs of the priest — a smoke
They murmured about cover stories,
On the other side of the window, a young
cat stretched and arched in a shrinking patch
women were crossing themselves, plunking
down on their knees praying.
_______________________________________________________________