Today's poem is by Dorsey Craft

When We Invented Gunpowder, We Were Trying to Invent the Elixir of Life
       

How quickly we adapt, water carving
a vein in earth. What we cannot swallow,
we haste to gild or set aflame: baby teeth,
dogwood branch, God and all his yellow
number two pencils scratching away at
our bones. I pray with a wisp of my son's
hair in my fingers. I cannot cry over
the mass shooting, not even when I touch
him. My mind is brilliant jade. I cough
jewelry onto my pillow, solder new words
for shame. When I birthed him, I lost miles
of silk—crimson tincture silent as smoke
that left only hills of salt behind.

Copyright © 2024 Dorsey Craft All rights reserved
from Shō Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission