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Richard Fein
I was Finalist in The 2004 Center for Book Arts Chapbook Competition.
I have been published in many web and print journals, such as Oregon East Southern Humanities Review, Touchstone, Windsor Review, Maverick, Parnassus Literary Review, Small Pond, Kansas Quarterly, Blue Unicorn, Exquisite
Corpse, and many others. I also have an interest in digital photography and have published
many of my photos.
COSMIC EXCUSE FOR GETTING BACK TOGETHER
Now, I couldn’t care more that you couldn’t care less about me.
Please forgive my vacuous prattle about wanting more space.
For I’ve traveled through that space and found it cold
and so silent my cries were sopped up by the spongy darkness.
I reached a nebulous destination and returned,
learning that only empty space can fill empty space.
This universe goes beyond all horizons.
Let’s imagine ourselves as binary stars of equal gravity,
with neither of us the brighter star,
so we both take from and give to the other
while the wispy plasma strand between flows freely both ways.
Our orbits tightly in tandem–
no, tighter than that, we a singularity of two,
primordial and mysterious, like just before the Big Bang.
FLIGHTS OF FRIGHTENING COMFORTING FANCY
"And a great star fell from heaven, burning like a torch . . . .
The name of the star is Wormwood.
A third of the waters became Wormwood,
and many died from the water,
because it was made bitter."
REVELATION 8:10,11
I think about what I might think
if this plane plunged into the sea,
with all of us reduced to a fiery Wormwood searing the sky,
with sunset to the West, gathering darkness to the East
and the fast approaching blue below.
No mindless panic, no soiled pants
rather I'd practice a Zen-like focus
on memories, on actions flowering from memories.
I'd recall two days ago when we screamed divorce.
But then I'd remember this morning's parting kiss
and her saying that she'll miss me,
our recent anger an inconvenient memory.
As I, as all my fellow travelers, fall
I'd rise above myself
keeping still amid the panicky Hail Marys.
I'd smile at the oxymoron of a downward ascent,
a heavenly, hellish release of soul from body.
But most of all there'd be the paradox of the parting kiss,
not a Judas kiss but a seal of loyalty,
as the plane cracked
and the ocean rushed in salty as tears.
copyright
© Richard Fein
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