Anything Will Do
Anything could go here, the smallest mite,
the largest star, lips perhaps
Or a space—spaces speak—a note swooping
from way on high, dogs’ ears
To empty the emptiness, so bloody much of it
to pour forth, here, faux flow
Music maybe, background music that affects
or made-up music for now
Some have the stamina not to stop, or maybe
it’s more will than fitness
Anything will do because she’s not coming back—
a proud, defiant absence
There’s room for what’s not, for what could never
be and for what could
Echoes find a way, my name said with exasperation,
eternal ghost breath
No one has to listen, the pressure of too many voices
vying to master memory
Once were woods and streams with native trout and
tied flies too pretty to use
The universe’s best attended concert, everyone fell in
love, the fall was painless
The way bones stored drums, the scratchy viola, a
very particular brassiness
The only way I can hold on, what has entered completely
and left even more so
A true memory of being true, ah, open wide, it’s coming
in a wave that doesn’t break
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Don J. Kraemer is a teacher and writer living in Southern California. Recent work has appeared in Anti Heroin Chic and The Perch.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 