When a Bowl Hits a Tree

by Linda Simoni-Wastila

You would think when a bowl

hits a tree the sound would

be fierce, a loud clatter

as stoneware explodes on

birch bark dispersing shards

in daffodils and grape

muscari, but the noise

is gentle, a thudding

clink like empty bourbon

bottles rattling hollow

in Monday morning trash;

yet this contusion of

wood upon ceramic,

a sound unto itself,

is never forgotten.


Perhaps it was the arc,

how the bowl hurled across

the yard, arugula

and spinach spinning slow

motion; perhaps it was

velocity, anger

fueled heft behind the hand;

or perhaps it was the

meager mass that rendered

such feeble protest; or

maybe it was the years

of other things broken

at louder, higher pitch

which has inured us from

giving any more damns.