GONE

      by Bates Corlieu

Not with the shatter of porcelain
A muffled clunk frees Granny’s last plate 
Cracks my distance in dishwater
With the drowned halves of clay
Not because it broke
But because it took eighty years
And Jeff had only thirty-two and John forty-three 
And the others     less

Mercy on fragile boys slipped from sight
Forever gone grabs me by the throat
Sinks me to the linoleum
Silly rubber gloves     big yellow blurs
Apron to my face like a mother.