What We Did in The Meantime
by Brian Clifton
We rolled it in newspaper and watched it levitate
in the street. The rain turned
every streetlight into a tiny fire.
It is so sad, he said. Really, so sad. And turned himself over
*
to face the wall. Months had passed
since the diagnosis,
and like a chainsaw to the lower thigh
*
some things were over as soon as they began.
Sometimes, I clattered through the apartment
as if I were already a ghost. Sometimes I whispered,
I have such cold hands, again and again into my widened sleeves.
The clock wore a smile I could call
apathetic. I was prone, waiting for the world to turn
*
itself off. I could tell you I was dissatisfied, but that would be a lie.
Along the main drag, the streetlights unspooled
like two thin ribbons. I stood in the center.
When the wind picked up, I levitated.
in the street. The rain turned
every streetlight into a tiny fire.
It is so sad, he said. Really, so sad. And turned himself over
*
to face the wall. Months had passed
since the diagnosis,
and like a chainsaw to the lower thigh
*
some things were over as soon as they began.
Sometimes, I clattered through the apartment
as if I were already a ghost. Sometimes I whispered,
I have such cold hands, again and again into my widened sleeves.
The clock wore a smile I could call
apathetic. I was prone, waiting for the world to turn
*
itself off. I could tell you I was dissatisfied, but that would be a lie.
Along the main drag, the streetlights unspooled
like two thin ribbons. I stood in the center.
When the wind picked up, I levitated.
Brian Clifton co-edits Bear Review. He is a PhD. candidate at the University of North Texas. His work can be found in: Pleiades, Guernica, Cincinnati Review, Salt Hill, Prairie Schooner, The Journal, Beloit Poetry Journal, and other magazines. He is an avid record collector and curator of curiosities.
