The Fiddleback

poem by Dillon J. Welch

on Her Recent Absence

Recalling is a lot like smashing
your head on a bulbous rock
and bottling whatever it is
that leaks out. The shifting
consistencies, how they exude or where
you were when you last smelled
something so vivid. Tuscaloosa.
Summer in the City of Oaks. Biking
backwards to avoid the pratfall
of sore knees. What of the rain
disguised as mist disguised
as excuse to dance moronic
beside a stop sign? What if
we tripped our entire way through
and were left only with a photo
so full of sunspots? The smallest
cactus on the sill in the den and
you still try to palm it a smooth
earthen vase. Nina, shattering
glassware will never bring you
an answer. Sitting somewhat
parallel to an untapped hydrant
will not rinse you clean. Everything
surprises, until it doesn’t.

——–
Dillon J. Welch