Poetry by Matt Thomas
EPIPHANY
Those times the light is uncertain, forgets
to lick and mother
the shapes of the world
usually homogenous,
become brittle and brail
speaking in sharp little barks
A fluorescent second
in the grocery store maybe,
looking up from my phone
and seeing you,
hair like a curtain
behind which
you’re examining the contents
of a yogurt freezer
etched in ozone, up the nose,
on the backs of my eyes
who you are and what you want;
a discerning instant before
the relief of you retreats
by quick, familiar degrees
(I remember to forget)
to the barest dimensions of distant home
that I follow, behind
and out of the way
with dissipating scratch of you
like that of a raspberry briar
on the back of my hand
long after I part it, or the air fretting
passage of a bird
Matt Thomas is a smallholder farmer, engineer, and poet. His recent work can be found in Ponder Review, The Thieving Magpie, and Common House. Disappearing by the Math, a full-length collection, was published by Silver Bow in 2024. He lives with his family in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Visit Matt Thomas at his website, or @mattthomaspoetry on Threads.
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