Poem 81 ± August 24, 2015

D.C. Wiltshire
uncle David/poz

I have spent so much time
trying to transmute you into words,
the insistent off-balance whir of the washing machine,
the white pulse of youth,
a searing singing opera of

name, place, time.

you were so terrible with children. but soft
with the adult unraveling
like a Cirque dancer from the sky
on twisted ribbon briefly
whose art dies when tiptoes touch ground.

name, place, time.

soon I’ll be seen
older than you were
when you washed away gently on red seas
a reed-thin rowboat for one:

that I should be held
to the same key of brilliance
as you a phantom leaping


D.C. Wiltshire, who shares both his first and middle names with his uncle David, is a sometime preacher, chaplain, and poet living in Durham, NC.

This poem is not previously published. This is D.C. Wiltshire’s first poetry publication.