Healed by a microscope, the angel burns my missing son's hair
in the mirror's
I am in the blue school of that first shooting.
Ohio radio treats fatigue as an error from sleep's past.
Art is a moon rock in a gun shop
Copyright © 2021 by Barton Smock. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 23, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.
About this Poem
“I can't speak for all fathers, but my own fathering is littered with necessary and fake finalities. As such, I wrote this poem by hand on a small piece of paper while worrying about the long and short lives of my children. In the spacing of the poem, I tried to honor the little room I'd given myself for its projected concerns.”
Date Published: 2021-08-23
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/soonisms