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Chancellor Florida State Poets Association
Florida Poet Laureate Volusia County
Winner of 2011 American Poet Prize
As in drill rehearsal for an embattled place,
we call in mirrored breadths an inventory, mime
in duet a list, a ruck sack check, that makes you gaze
at your wrist, check watch, check pockets, jingle car keys
chin-high like copper chimes, or like the bells
that focus our attention in the Mass, a summoning
that at the altar an ordained event—body as host,
wine that was blood—is happening and is past.
We are older now; this is what this is. A pause midstride
before leaving one another, before leaving the house;
a wave from the drive the way angels—disquieted—
watch, then catch us by the hair. They hear our doubts.
Leaving, returning, for them: deliverance, reunion
with the stars, a coming home. For us, chance, a constant drum.
Copyright © 2022 M. B. McLatchey. All rights reserved.
Published in Southern Poetry Review, Vol. 60, issue 1.
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