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Post Road Magazine #32

Peony + Clench

Michele Glazer


She. Cutting white peonies to place near his head.
She. Insisting he leave

with something sweet (the world
as water turning to stone

to be that lost
in the place he lived).

In a cave like this,
the folded hard shapes and the groaning.

The man who wouldn't eat couldn't die.
The man who couldn't die is almost pure

sound, Vivaldi
playing all the time, she thinks

to keep the mind
off his body.

She sits in some front row

crosses a leg. Adjusts a bum. Thinks of him.
Thinks music cannot be made

larger than pain.
His fine mind

a fistful of moths,
and his eyes

and they are cousin and weary, and yellow and true.


His toes clenched. All of him
Went into the fire. Conjure
His body empty—that sack—that final
Ruin I can't separate my father
From his body, burn it or bury
It they said you have to
&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;&bnsp;make a choice. &bnsp;&bnsp;More dark
Than I thought possible, more topo-
Graphical than thought if thought
Could be almost
Riverbed. From every direction
You are one
Long night poured into another night.
While your feet
Were still recognizable as feet I
Wanted to place
The bottoms of my own against them.

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