Looking Back
by Frances Briggs


Look. Take a good look. Don't be afraid.
Swivel your head like the owl and look.
Do you see the three owls strutting in a tree? The
golf club smashing bone and flesh? The smooth white
of winter snow lying undisturbed? The open
mouth and eyes of the dead? The eyes of a friend
closed in laughter? The fish struggling on a hook?
The dog bouncing up from under the wheel and
falling in the road? The child running with open
arms? A lover's eyes rolling back in ectasy? The
lizard curled above the door? The jar of honey
broken on the kitchen floor? The water reflecting
morning light? The dread of a ringing phone after
midnight? The sound of a clod thrown in the grave?
The echoing crash of a wave? The memory of a world
created in a book? Look. You won't turn to stone.
Or become a pillar of salt. The stone of your heart
will melt and the salt will flow from your eyes.






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