The wind ruffles the strands of rope
under my chin. Lay me down, hope,
lay me down. Dry boards rattled when
the door fell down, gaping open
with toothless chatter, an old tale
of men gripping the law in pale
fists. So lay me down, scrap iron blood,
lay me down, deep under a flood
of clods, the hair on my wrists worn
to nerve. When I came to be born,
willow trees rose out of the soil.
When I left, grass turned to gold foil.
Lift me, thin moon, in my new-sewed
gown, lift me, eyes pennied, lift me far
to the wound in the sky, healed by stars.
Malcolm Glass has published fourteen books of poetry and non-fiction. His work has appeared in many journals, including Poetry, Nimrod, The Arizona Quarterly, Prairie Schooner, and The Sewanee Review. In 2018 Finishing Line Press published his latest poetry collection Mirrors, Myths, and Dreams. Also a playwright, his play “Replay,” was recently published in “Contemporary One Act Plays.”