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Brian Builta

Brian Builta lives in Arlington, Texas, and works at Texas Wesleyan University in Fort Worth. His work has been recently published or is forthcoming in Jabberwock Review, Juke Joint Magazine, South Florida Poetry Journal, New Ohio Review and TriQuarterly.

My Business with the Cloud

What will you do, said the wiseguy, when life
Lent you is demanded back? You ponder
This question like a waning moon
A violin concerto in the corner of the room
Or was that me wracked and weeping last night?
Mary is on the cross, baby Joseph in the manger.
Who can keep these things straight?
We panic over a potential inch of ice.
Come back to bed, you say. Climb in. I will hold your shoulder
And soothe your rain until our darknesses are obscured again.
The next day becomes a long wait
For runners to pass. We drink all the cooler water
One small blue cup at a time. Everyone
Is concerned for the rain, such a fall from such a height.
When I lost those near to me
I felt kicked out of a cloud.
Now I’m fading.
Home alone and shutting down.
If only I could jumpstart, throng again.
And what about the children we never had?
What’s to become of them
With so much smut in the world?
It’s hard to get ahead without a name
Without a face or home
Without parents to raise or give you birth.
Some rain never stops
And here we are
On the broken stone road
With wrecked umbrellas.


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