by Alicia Hoffman
Because all around us the drumrolls of drill bits
are pummeling into old infrastructure, forklifting
the dated shrubbery, making way for
updates in landscape that speak more
for this century. The hosta and the weeping
cherry, maybe, because to live is to burn
the memory of yesterday’s demolishment
in the copper bowls of old news. Say goodbye
to the curling smoke disappearing now over
our shoulders. Begin with rejoicing because
those lilting balloons of our incredulity and the rising
clouds behind us can only contain the illumination
we give in lieu of darker things. The Louisville
woman shot to death in her sleep. The eight-year-old
gunned down in Chicago on the 4th of July. Meanwhile,
the camps. The plagues. The plastic islands floating double
rainbows of Aquafina, Coca-Cola. Begin
with rejoicing because today I am alive to witness
each terrific thing, and I will be sure to end
somewhere nearer solitude. The stoicism of
the Slippery Elm looming over the field of saplings.
Because to see the world is to hold it like a relic
in the museum of my fragility, to know when to cradle
it gentle under the morning light and when to let it go.
About the Author:
Alicia Hoffman: Originally from Pennsylvania, Alicia Hoffman now lives, writes, and teaches in Rochester, New York. She holds an MFA in Poetry from the Rainier Writing Workshop and is the author of three collections, most recently ANIMAL (Futurecycle Press). Her poems have been published in a variety of journals, including Thrush, Radar Poetry, Trampset, The Night Heron Barks, Tar River Poetry, The Penn Review, Glass: A Poetry Journal, Typishly, One Art, and elsewhere. Find her at: www.aliciamariehoffman.com