Flat

A Poem

The silence perpetuates its scowl flattened pillows hard to the ground triangular rhythms of talking from side to side to side Miles lacing the inner part of the hills black dirt a few shrubs and willows pierced with the odd fir a distance without a vanishing point Just when it all straightens out the slow rise to the house beside the cherry and American elm slight and sagging lawnchairs taking on snow like mouths that haven’t eaten all summer The crusted grass, few bits of recycling that entirely missed or leapt out of the container reminders to get a shovel and clear the brief slope towards the driveway Your too solid memory then comes to erect the mountains you never got over

J.D. Harms 2020