portion of the artwork for Theo LeGro's poetry

ars poetica
Theo LeGro

Because I saw a cloud I thought I should tell you about
while it still looks like a whale with the moon on its tongue.
Because the moon takes a thousand shapes: sliver of a beer can,
your hand, clenched fist, cupped palm and I can’t always tell
the difference. Because every time I tried to unstick my boot
from the earth’s soft cheek, the moon was a cat’s paw,
an origami swan’s neck folding back open. Because
what I wanted then, I want now: to be able to say, it’s better
this way
. Because I’ve made a life collecting broken things,
peach pits, different names for my mother’s heart: apple, apology,
the source of all tears. Because I’m still, somehow, afraid of pain.
Because I’ve seen how time launders the memory, makes the mind
a stainless sheet to be folded and put away. Because what else
am I supposed to do when you’re gone? Because we’re well
until we’re not, here until we’re not, and the dead stay
where they are, watching. Because there’s one life where I’m dead,
haunting rooms everyone I love has already left. Because you—
you are everyone I’ve ever loved, and we are alive, and every day
there is something else we could have done, and didn’t.


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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 59 | Spring/Summer 2022