…..
1°
By degrees
the flood waters loosen
the furniture’s grip, careening
stump and stool center the room
in the house’s staggered dark.
Unfinished objects lost in translation
lost in thought sharpen
on razor-thin moonlight
that cuts through them
at night when they pretend to sleep.
A one-degree difference
is all the difference needed
to sour the air, flex the porch screen
tight like a sail
sailing them into late summer rhythms
from which the pavement cedes
twilight pools streetlight spins glittering
across the aluminum rooftops.
On the wall
the window is the last to go, contains
in it a view of the neighbor’s lily garden.
Its shade races the pond underwater
to reach sunset shimmers
over lily pedestals entranced
in their lame poses. The empty pipes
inside the now dark fountain
moan beyond sleep. When I stay
the night throws off its balance.
I want there to be a moral at the end.
…..
This poem is from the chapbook Ash Grove by William LaPage (Finishing Line Press) and can be found at https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/ash-grove-by-william-lapage/
William LaPage is a freelance writer, teacher, and the author of the story collection, The Vague Terrain. His poetry has been published in New Note Poetry, Rockvale Review, The Awakenings Review, among others. Born and raised in the Ozarks, he spent much of his youth growing up in the Rio Grande Valley. He holds an MA from Missouri State University and currently attends the MFA program at the University of Missouri—St. Louis. He lives in St. Louis.
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