Elegy
Carmin Sherlock

Father, tell me about the taste of sweet corn.
Tell me about the sky in 1999, on the pier, at the lake.
Tell me about the tatters of a half constructed poem.
Tell me about riding no-handed and
Tell me of the brothers, in the dark, with their cigars.
Tell me about the summer the cicadas came out of the earth.
Tell me about the perfect sentence.
It was late afternoon, there had just been lightning, and everyone for a moment had lost their sadness.