Martin Willitts Jr
Martin Willitts Jr is one of many poetry editors for Comstock Review in Syracuse, New York. He has over 20 chapbooks, and 10 full-length collections including forthcoming The Uncertain Lover (Dos Madras Press) and News From the Slow Country (Aldrich Press).
Always now is this weather, but always going elsewhere.
Even if it does nothing, it’s still something, even if it stills
like a deer staring into headlights. Always then
is the aftermath. Some might chide my noticing
the spiritual aspect. I hear their dissuading voices, already.
Their words clatter-clink like hail on metal. But I listen
for the murmur of birds, the prattle of mourning doves,
the quaver of crickets, the timbering of windchimes.
I am trying to connect with the weather, to be a part
of its modulation, to understand its discord, its unrest.
Just beyond the land’s edge, the straits reach out
begging hands. Distance rumbles with kettle drums.
Beyond that, we cannot see, but I know what’s out there.
God is swinging in a loose hammock, quietly smiling.
All shall be well, in certainty.
Bad moments will fade, leaving us
stronger than before. And all
shall be greatly improved.
All shall be well, forever — this
is my prayer. Be well, recover,
feel clouds leaving our faces.
Be all in this moment; be well,
be well into recovery.
We shall be forged harder
for the next blow. Be sturdy
in wind, well-grounded.
Lift moments and set them down.
All shall be well. I’m certain.
We are always one heartbeat away
from being better. Recover.
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