For my mother
Irish laughter, breaking glass,
and where you are now. Perhaps
in this book?
In the words ‘a figure
glided quietly from
bed to bed,
smoothing a blanket,
settling a pillow,’
naming each of us
in your prayers? About
4:36 AM, I see you on my couch.
A firefly, whispering love
as a tonic to adversity…
This only days after the Super
of the dead sometimes return to us
as birds. Like your two cardinals did.
But when I step out into the cold now
the trees are birdless.
It’s your laughter we’ve come to hear.
It’s the light, in all of our rooms.
David Wyman's first poetry collection Proletariat Sunrise was published by Kelsay Books in 2017. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in BlazeVOX, Dissident Voice, Clockwise Cat, Picaroon Poetry, Down In The Dirt, The Voices Project, Squawk Back, Tuck Magazine, The Aurorean, Zombie Logic Review, S/WORD and Genre: Urban Arts among other publications. He's a fan of Karl Marx, jazz guitar and the visionary poetry of William Blake. He lives in Massachusetts where he teaches American Literature and Composition at Mount Wachusett Community