by Ronda Piszk Broatch
Sonnet with general relativity
Maybe this is the century for rapture, or execution.
Maybe deep down inside us is an illustration
we can refer to, some clattering word or casual
meme to quote on twitter, or wave file of a nightingale
in the bluebell woods. All night in dreams I was floating
like a crow in catharsis. All night the darkness stirring
the fine bones of my ear. Maybe it’s the age of primitive
visions, a return to ordinary time, an epic rescue of history
or just silence with the beloved. Hold my hand,
I ask you, before we make the leap into space, bring a lamp
and a wristwatch so that if we drift apart, I’ll have the courage
to watch time, knowing you’ll be older, more perfect
than the roses I planted in our garden light years ago,
when, bound by attraction, the better part of us knew to let go.
Poet and photographer, Ronda Piszk Broatch, is the author of Lake of Fallen Constellations (MoonPath Press, 2015). An Artist Trust GAP Grant recipient and Pushcart nominee, Ronda’s journal publications include Blackbird, Prairie Schooner, Sycamore Review, Mid-American Review, Puerto del Sol, and Public Radio KUOW’s All Things Considered, among others.