STILL LIFE by Virginia Schnurr

Our boy jumped off a bridge.

Water has no pity.

I turn to tender

Morandi, who kept

Leopardi's poems by his bedside,

arranged the same still life

over and over until a bottle

resembled a boy.

I borrow a boat,

carve diamond

and "Morandi with love

a tribute" on the side.

Blackbirds sleep on the prow.

I sail the waves,

my left married hand in the water,

found no trace of his still life.

Our black boy couldn't stand

the long journey down.

Breaking through the ice

the beaver bumped my boat.

She handed in her aspen sticks,

leftover scraps of winter meals

nutrients gnawed out.

I envy this mother

her kits safe underwater.

I remember the days

of Pooh sticks.

Our boy waiting

for his stick

to float under the bridge.