Tier 3

music / / poetry / / philosophy / / -ology by Nick Courtright

The Wednesday Poem: Delta, pt. 3





* * *

The earth here is attached to a box. Dirt and cedar,

the difference is too little to mention. At the sky

he throws stone after stone, dodging their fall.


This is his way to share, a shoeprint of soot

on the carpet, running down a road with no middle.


Swimming, he takes consolation: beneath the sea

it never rains—the sea goes down just

as it goes across, far far down and far far across.


If this continues, drowning will feel ordinary—

no one will remember it’s there, surrounding


his mother, who’s nowhere to be found.

Certainly, like a puddle he will run and run.

In the chaos of the sunrise, his cluttering about


is almost normal: when the earth is all dried up,

he will be either his mother’s garden or some spice.


[This poem originally appeared in the Fall 2006 issue of Phoebe]



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