Cell
The death of that day became a calling card
to look through a blue mason jar, filled with water,
and try to find god. Imagine the microscopic life—
floating protozoa, like ghost sperm,
fertilizing the low water-line
cutting through the “B”, in “Ball”. All the breakage
of the hours really is my fault, I think, and take a sip.
I can inhabit a space too. I can consume. I can
hold the falling sunset in my hand
mediated by my bedroom window
And call that “photosynthesis”. I can absorb
the intention of my era and call that love.
About the Author: Savannah Williams is in her thesis year at Texas State’s MFA program, for poetry. She is from Austin, Texas.
Image Credit: Cora Parker “Mason Jar” (1939) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 