Poetry: Terry Mulert

Let Me Explain Death, Son

When you are the willows
and their finches gladly in and out
of shadowy nests tangled deep
within blackberry brambles
and October hesitates
in the naked cold

red is the color of your blood
before it touches air
yellow are the apples
in the dead man’s field

how can all this die?
who spreads this rumor of death?

looking at you as you slip into a bath
I understand the meaning of torsos and toes

outside cows wander through an icy fog
following the night rivers
finding each other and everything green
their horns shed into the broken grass

one day we wake up
and the apples have fallen
some birds are flying south
and there is nothing to explain

Innocence

The jazz of the milk truck through town
honeysuckles drop their white and yellow silk

like a small girl tearing at her last piece of clothing
because she too has learned to undress

ravens disappear before they become sound
the warm horns of summer