shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Isabel Chenot


Downtown Cemetery

I walked all-wondering at dust
(where had it breathed?) and block
buildings thrusting near, amassed
monolithic with the flock

Of broken rows – headstones
sown long ago, some dragon's teeth
awaiting Armageddon –
reminding me that even earth

has a last war: such peace
in such uneasy memory.
No voices rattled through the cemetery:
no brittle sound relieved the writing of disease

wasting abundant bone,
breaking mens teeth on silent syllables. I read its
undertone, and watched my own
breath spelling mist.