Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Three Poems by JD DeHart


We discussed death this
afternoon and it was consuming.
Then we spent some time
considering genealogy.
The same story was known
to be heard at least three times.
Now I rest, my mind cycles,
like the tide nearby, and all
I can do is roll my way through
these conversations in my mind
again and again, ebb and flow.


I think, I love
there is a synaptic firing
in my brain known
as what I remember about
As one wise woman
once put it, when the brain
stops, where does
the knowledge go?
Does it escape like
a fine vapor
or just sink into the earth?


He began as a solid
figure, immovable--
or so it seemed.
Slowly, the fingers
began to smudge
at their very tips, then
the toes.  Then the
arms were blurry.
We saw (or did not)
see him three weeks
later when, finally, a word
or image or thought
could pass right through.

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard and on Amazon.

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