The Ritual
I imagine an old farm truck
in willow shade—its soft wide
wrinkled seat, tall cornfields on
the horizon. Another night,
I’m tucked in a crevice like a
hermit crab evading the greedy
sea. All this to shield myself
from life’s curse. Next to me
obituaries piled on a pillow
to convince myself
Death’s maw is full—
the Komodo dragon having
devoured a full-sized goat.
Let me believe we sleep
in separate worlds.
The cotton covers pass
over me like night’s sky, then
dawn shutters beside me
full of scales and hungry.
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Richard L. Matta is originally from New York’s Hudson Valley and now lives in San Diego, California. His poetry has appeared in MacQueen’s Quinterly, Stirring, Gyroscope, ONE ART, Watershed Review, international haiku journals, and elsewhere. He was recently nominated for a Pushcart and Touchstone Award, and is an award-winning short form poet.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 