By Judith Skillman
Water-worn image of an eye
etched and lined, the tilted earth
no longer holds its metal.
*
Water worms the soil until
a hollow man comes to rule—
a toad gurgling ribbit ribbit.
*
Power over versus personal power
duel it out à la 21st
siècle psycho babble.
*
To whomever enforced laws,
the falling into and down,
implore: Is this my swan song?
*
St. Francis of Assisi drowns.
Pockets full of skunk, possum.
Belly up lies the large coon.
*
Catholic helpmates come to look
for one singing candled hymns—
find litany: foam, stone, fur.
*
In his bed the king began
to be poor and sick, Monsieur Macron.
The toad lips lies, the eye sees.
Judith Skillman’s recent books are Premise of Light, Tebot Bach; and Came Home to Winter, Deerbrook Editions. She is the recipient of grants from Artist Trust and from the Academy of American Poets. Her work has appeared in Shenandoah, Poetry, Cimarron Review, The Southern Review, and other journals. Visit www.judithskillman.com.
Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash.
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