Look, Sam, I canít tell you
why. Things I thought
once swimming quietly in its own rainbow of light.
Last night, I didnít even hear you come to bed. It seems
youíve learned to tiptoe, or to glide your socks across
the wood floors in soft, sweeping motions.
And the world is a mess. The word ĎFatherí now rings
eerie, like a church bell tolling at odd hours, with no
one there to pull the rope.
The truth is, I watch the morning sun gather up dust
in its wake. The truth is, even the microscopic
can be seen with the right trick of light.
Elizabeth Bruno is a
graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Parkside where
she received a
BA in English with a writing concentration. I live and work in
Wisconsin . Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in