At the End

Think of the mushroom
soaked and near dissolved,
of the shrouded smile at
the terminal, or the fish

whose stripes appear only
on cooking through. Think
through the thrown tantrums
and basketballs, the berries


unpicked in a heat wave,
or the yawn interrupting
itself. Think on the photo
unglossed at the crease, the orchid


that outlasts the graveyard
visits, the leavings of
the resolute sticker, and
even the invited weight


of an awning or a title.
To think about any being,
summon a kind of waist,
about the glassy dress


shoes on the connecting
flight, the veins memorized
in illness, the temporary
cover for the grand and sleepless


windows. Fold each thought:
the highway stop where toilet
paper is piled, the knife
marks on the counter with


the ants carrying earwax,
the wooden enclosure for
a lake, flooded, the hum of
the cobbled afterparty. Think.


Read on . . .

From End of Empire,” poetry by Marissa Davis