If Nothing Comes Before the Morning Light

I'll give words names and scores

and hope

they assemble naturally

from memory

or as statements

made on the fly

in exuberance

that left a record

on the sidewalk.

So, thought in hours,

dream in sleep,

boredom in celebration,

become the assembly

of ourselves

without us noticing

like initials

in fresh cement

with a date.

The Unspoken

When it comes to

where to start rolling,

look for the crazy mayor

in traffic.

Your city, too,

is a great calculation

and summation of

all aspiration, daily.

Why do you feel guilty?

Dice cried for you

and for your trailered uncles

and suppressed names

in the lineup no one spoke of

so they dripped out

of history—yours.

You'll know them

as yourself—given time.

ABOUT:

Lawrence Bridges' poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, and Tampa Review. He has published three volumes of poetry: Horses on Drums (Red Hen Press, 2006), Flip Days (Red Hen Press, 2009), and Brownwood (Tupelo Press, 2016). You can find him on IG: @larrybridges, Bluesky @lawrencebridges.bsky.social, and Twitter (X): @LawrenceBridges. Website and photo galleries: https://www.lawrencebridges.com/. YouTube Channel: @larry90272

EDITOR'S SONG PAIRING: NAYM — Cement