The Serrated Edge of Time
Two Poems by Tom Lagasse
Sunday morning brims with potential. Free of obligation
we congregate at the dining room table, more or less,
around 8. Well after sunrise but before the suburban
summer chores motorize the neighborhood into a factory.
Between adjusting our coffee’s flavor by the teaspoon
and sharing articles from the Times, we confess
our sins of omission, admit our failures of character,
and seek love despite our imperfections.
A touch of the hand, a broken smile, a stray tear
gently wiped from the cheek – we offer one another
contemporaneous sermons, culled from our limited
wisdom, with the surety of footnotes, will help
walk us towards resurrection.
In exchange for forgiveness, we make promises and offer
declarations. Before the day drifts to dusk we will
have denied ourselves three times.
In the dark hours of morning
Houselights, like stars illuminate
The constellation called neighborhood.
Dream clouds are severed by
the serrated edge of time.
The uniformity covers night’s nakedness.
The day’s orbit wakens the unseen hand
Of gravity as it pulls
The body to life to ruin to dust.
In evening’s quiet beneath the soft
Glow of candlelight a mother
Cradles her child, offers her breast and hums
A lullaby. Her voice rises towards
Dream child dream.
Tom’s poetry has appeared in Silver Birch Press Prime Movers Series, Freshwater Literary Review, Word Mill Magazine, The Monterey Poetry Review, Wine Drunk Sidewalk, Plum Tree Tavern, iamnotasilentpoet.com and Wax Poetry & Art, along with a half dozen anthologies. He lives in Bristol, Connecticut.