Consisting of phrases taken from a southeast Idaho Mormon regional conference session, 4 March 2018.
This understanding of death and sorrow,
these words . . . Maybe it doesn’t really work:
pleading, tears streaming, my house in the
quiet solitude of desire. One seed, one earth.
I continue to live, finally obtain the path, the
power, regardless of the torch, the fire of
hours. Blood for instance. The boat is
sinking. What does it mean when we are born
this way?—a one-time epiphany. At the very
center of new beginnings: the end. I didn’t
understand it then, but I do now. October is a
very strong word. Children will water the
crops, the earth we have become.
David Rock has work appearing in The Carolina Quarterly, The Laurel Review, The Bitter Oleander, The Chattahoochee Review, Image, Painted Bride Quarterly, Poetry East, and elsewhere. An Idaho native, he teaches Spanish and international studies at Brigham Young University-Idaho in Rexburg.
Appears In
Cagibi Issue 6
