An open envelope
Sits, with the national seal cracked,
On top of the kitchen table;
The date on the bottom is for tomorrow.

She draws him a warm bath,
And after, he slips into bed.
She presses up against him
And her skin is drawn tight to try to
Cover his empty hollow,
But she can only feel a cold rhythmic beat—
The tapping of a snare drum that
Mechanically-drives men’s print-less feet forward,

Has no resonance.

–James Rose


About loyolapoets

The Greyhound Collective Poetry Revival would like to consider “mission statement” in its simplest terms. Rather than reiterate the boundaries of our task, we simply express our aim: to become a mission – a party of individuals sent out into the world with a message meant to unveil a uniting principle of truth. We define this message as “poetry.” We promote poetry as a viable and vivid art form, alive and accessible. Freed from its ivory tower, our poetry will breathe life into an ailing form while fostering an artful relationship with the greater community. We assert ourselves under the following mantra: “your mouth is a sign of how sacred your life actually is.” As a collective, we write to be sanctified. View all posts by loyolapoets

One response to “Tomorrow

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