Anniversary
Good Friday came and left.
I recalled a few years before
when my sister died.
We lived in a common sadness
that was ordinary and blue.
When we sat together,
light entered from the window.
The beams were undistinguished
but whole in their holy attention
to the detail and clarity of each
human face. Our invisible breath,
our words, rattled around in that
luminous air. The light streamed in
like a river without gravity
that ran through time’s windows.
The entry was triumphant
and lasted the morning while we sat
together, before the light staled.
And it happened like that every day—
no matter how much we lost, no matter
how many times—that lustrous silence
always came back, and our minds
leaved and flowered through the sky
where we dreamed of following.
Jesse Breite’s recent poetry has appeared in Tinderbox Poetry Journal, The Pinch, Terrain, and Rhino. His first full-length poetry collection is forthcoming from Fernwood Press. Jesse teaches high school in Atlanta, Georgia, where he lives with his wife and two kids. More at jessebreite.com.
Amethyst Review 