• Skip to main content
  • Skip to secondary navigation
  • Skip to primary sidebar

Painted Bride Quarterly

  • About
    • About PBQ
    • People
  • Issues
    • Current Issue
    • Past Issues
    • Print Annuals
  • Podcast
    • Latest Podcast
    • All Podcasts
  • News & Events
  • Submit
  • Shop
  • Fiction
  • Poetry
  • Prose
  • Contributors
  • Current Issue

Julie Ritter: 5:43am

May 11, 2011 by PBQ

My father was a hive
Even strangers came home to him

Before he got sick,
we were sheafy, nested

until something dire awoke
in the dark pith

of his bones
like a fungus weakens the tree

All systems were choked & hectic
like a root ball

We waited for him to rise
and untangle himself

We looked for something strong & straight
We barred the door

keeping quiet
as his marrow’s secret turned

like a shifting embryo
of cells forgetting their work

People gathered,
wanting to know

Others busied themselves
dragging pollen to the threshold

We pulled leaves over us
with our teeth, draped one another

like crepe
and licked at our own hands

We curled in on ourselves
like a new fern, but weeping, rocking

as he breathed
and stopping when he did

Then, fully muffled
we rang the bell

Filed Under: Contributors 79, Issue 79, Poetry, Poetry 79 Tagged With: Contributors 79, Julie Ritter, Poetry, Poetry 79

Primary Sidebar

Recent News & Events

PBQ @ the Pen & Pencil!

PBQ Slam Session!

Slam Session with PBQ!

PBQ @ Poetry Tent!

PBQ @ AWP!

© 2020 Painted Bride Quarterly. Contact PBQ: info@pbqmag.org