"An Attempt at Reverence" by Chase Ferree
Some emotions settle, like silt
or a graveyard. Others hover –
a rising and falling, the torque
of the earth. The patience to stand
and watch arrives suddenly,
like a fly in your mouth or
a midday foghorn, a partial accident
where all signs point to perpendicular.
Market Basket was a place
where if I cried, I knew no one
would extend a glance. Comfort
rests in such realization,
though I don’t think my tears
ever dampened the aisles the way
other humors did. Sweat, spilled
milk, butchery juices. More blood
I’m sure but I only ever caught it
on the sidewalk outside.
Three perfect drops beside a torn
pigeon’s wing—splayed beautifully.
The red-tailed hawks would hunt
around the ever-crowded parking lot.
In a time like this, there might
be something to say on the line
between nature and asphalt,
the roots that break holes
in the street as they search
for water, for air: it’s hard
to be in the world
and impossible not to.
Chase Ferree (he/him) is a teacher in Seattle, WA. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Emerge Literary Journal, Peripheries Journal, Juke Joint, and elsewhere.