As though from a lullaby, the children climb such heights until
even the trees shiver for what leaps, unseen, between their
branches. This is how we find ourselves at the bottom of the
stairwell, pinholes in the half-devoured leaves falling both from
the floors above & outside, everywhere from the sky. There are
mirrors of long silences, months without a single visitor. Each
wish written across a lima bean, filling the barrels with ink &
afterwards, at the threshold overhead, we look to our old lives
awful on the floor. We suffer that strangeness & recognize the
clothes, the luck of those many good years & so much so it hurts.
Michael Robins is the author of five poetry collections, including People You May Know (2020) and The Bright Invisible (2022), both from Saturnalia Books. He lives in Lake Charles, Louisiana, where he teaches creative writing in the M.F.A. program at McNeese State University.
Image: “Red Hot Snapshot” from The Dollar Store Estate Sale Collection
Pine Hills Review 