
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.