John Davis

To Ease the Heart in Pain

Forget the cat I crushed on Highway 10
the buck that jumped and crumpled
under my car, stumbled up, blundered

into the forest and what about the mice
and black rats when the traps snapped
can I forget them or Father’s jaw

hard as a claw when rigor gripped him
slipped him a Mickey Finn is what I thought
not as gracious as the day easing down

effortlessly folding itself into red velvet
or the last leaf skying, riding the inland
sea breeze like a kite surfer floating
forever the final tone of a hymn.

If it’s true our past lives are waiting
over the hill for us to revisit when we drop
over the green canyon with companions
long since gone and the breath

of God is ours, then we shouldn’t worry
that we won’t be forgiven. The white tongues
of calla lilies will un-gray this day
when this day smells like almost rain.

John Davis is a polio survivor and the author of Gigs and The Reservist. His work has appeared recently in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea.