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These are Days We Cannot Fathom
by Lisa Marie BrodskyThe birth of a calf
with no mouth.
Oatmeal bowl
spilled.
Love
is a stone whipped
at the back of my head
and when I turn
there is smoke
where you once stood.
10/21/2004 Author's Note: This is just a revision from a longer piece, I'm still working on it. Also, I'm wondering how to format a poem because some of these lines should be indented, yet I don't see a way to do that.
Posted on 10/21/2004
Copyright © 2026 Lisa Marie Brodsky
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Ashok Sharda on 12/19/04 at 03:43 AM Remove the first four lines and you have a comple poem, obviously, meaningful on a different dimension. SEE, what I mean.This depicts some intense association turning into nothing. |
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