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| Gabriele Brancati |
Clearing
(Stillness of a Stag)
I sent the others on ahead, to “steal some time.” She looked back. "Solitude is the price of quiet," she seemed to say, unaware that in delay I would find absolution. She knows that snow is coming. Her daughters also know this, although they have never seen snow. It will cover this glade until spring, making it easier to see what needs to be seen.
None of them looked back again. She led, and the three of them crosswalked, one behind the other, scent-checking the wind, making their way along the edge of the glade, navigating its shallow dips and mounds. The ground is covered in brittle yellow leaves, and the feet made a crackling sound, no matter how gently they stepped. The sound became fainter and fainter, and then there was quiet, and their silhouettes became smaller and fused into one.
Is anyone ever truly alone?
I am always and unavoidably accompanied by consciousness. I am aware of his presence. I am aware of his authority. I am aware of his majesty (though I cannot see it). I had become aware that he was watching me. There is a time for flight and there is a time for jealousy and rage and there is a time for regret. The secret to life is knowing what time it is (it is morning).
I pretended not to know anything.
I am aware of being consumed.
Ahead, there is only the clearing (the others have passed through and escaped judgment). In years past, this open space was wide. Now it is surrounded by saplings, slippery with white frost coating the white bark. The rows of black spruce and tamarack that once encircled the clearing still stand, but they are behind the birches, and the ground is hard and there is no footing. There is no place to bury treasure. There is no water here. Amba will not stay to lick my bones. My spirit prepares for release.
ephemeral time
old coat scavenged by eagles
rise from fallen leaves
Enjoy more posts by Patrick Trombly HERE.
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| Patrick Trombly |
Patrick Trombly re-emerged as a publishing poet in 2025. He writes in a variety of formats and narrative voices, exploring relationships among humans, nature, and the divine. Representative publishers include: The Dewdrop, Loch Raven Review, Beyond Words, The Abstractionist, PHIL LIT Journal (shortlisted for a prize in December), The Closed Eye Open, Amethyst Review, In Parentheses, The Argyle, Resonance, and Connecticut River Review.
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