Distances
In this world
of storms with names
and sunny April days,
where words refer
to things we say
are real,
our dead lie gone
to miles that
can’t be closed.
But we share with them
another world
where physics
doesn't rule —
where we’re always
as we were
and are
and will be,
and in that world
they sometimes seem
as close to us,
or nearly,
as friends
who’ve moved away
and could come home
but don’t.
Bob Brussack writes poetry and short fiction. His poetry has appeared in Roanoke Review, Naugatuck River Review, San Pedro River Review, Black Coffee Review, and elsewhere. His recent short fiction piece, “Toad Took Lunch,” can be found at witcraft.org. He’s been a photographer since his parents gave him a Kodak Brownie for his birthday when he was nine. He was born in Manhattan, lived much of his life in Athens, Georgia, and resides now in Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland.