Fruit falls: a thud; the sound so loud that all
alone I turn for cause: could something
so small resound so loudly? No great height,
no great weight; the ground reverberates.
They fall: like bowling pins; like dominoes;
like soldiers shot. When atomic bombs reach ground
they show no sound on screen: just the mushroom
eating up the space. The mind fills in
the screams. It’s June, it’s warm, I shake.
A FALL by Robert Rothman | Pink Peony Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
Robert Rothman lives in Northern California, near extensive trails and open space, with the Pacific Ocean over the hill. His work has appeared in Atlanta Review, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, Tampa Review, Willow Review, and over one hundred thirty other literary journals in the United States, England, Ireland, Canada, Wales, and Australia. Please see his website (www.robertrothmanpoet.com) for more information about him and his work.
