William Erickson
BREAKFAST SOLILOQUY
After breakfast I discovered
an accretion disk around
the empty container of
raspberries, an iridescent
plate of ablated drupelets
circling recyclable clamshell
like discarded astral projects
on the kitchen counter.
God is summer fruits
and moldy gauze.
God is absorption.
Our new light fixture
is the Hubble beaming images
of war and elections over
history while the dishwasher
counts another minute
from its dry cycle. An arid star
blinking the name of cleanliness.
We do not understand,
but nonetheless we orbit
one another’s names like
the last ring of cereal,
saturated and without integrity,
evading the spoon in an expanse
of milk as thick as the emptiness
contained in our daily need to eat.
God is an expiration date.
The streaky windowpane
is an event horizon.
William Erickson is a poet and memoirist from Vancouver, Washington. His poetry appears or is forthcoming in West Branch, Heavy Feather, GASHER, The Adirondack Review, and many other publications. He is the author of a chapbook, Monotonies of the Wildlife (FLP).
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