Wayne-Daniel Berard

 

Leonardo reincarnates as a flight attendant                                 after Richard Fox

Put down the damn screens!
No, I’m not impressed. I could
have designed ten of them
in my sleep. Look out that
rounded romanesque window
and peer down at heaven! Not
that I ever believed, but this is
near enough. Don’t you see
you’re flying! I’d have traded
every Lisa, any supper first or
last just for an hour-glass worth
of this! And you, your fingers
tap your phones like gypsy dancers.
I loved the gypsies; they were free.
But compared to this? Those are
the tops of clouds! And one
would expect the world to grow
fuzzier higher up, not more
distinct — every path, every furrow,
every square so precise, so
mathematical. No, I’d rather soar
than speculate, rather see with
my own eyes than design virtual
ones for you. Ingrates! See me
pointing to the exits? That’s where
a cohort of DeMedici guards would
toss you out, had I my way. Yes,
make sure all devices are safely
stored in medias arse and enjoy
your flight — your flight!
You can fly, stugats! What other
reason do you need to live?

 

 

Res*her*rection                                                                      exhibit at the Gardner


angelico, as much
as I love you I am
luminously glad
that the Lady’s
finally undormitioned
no illumined crown
her son or you could give
her at the top
of triptychs could
surpass the sunlight
off this snow (even
in mid-March), could
rival Godessness on
this most nondescript
of days naturally you
and your angelic church
loved her buried then
assumed the Feminine
in its Heaven and all’s
male with the world

the Lady bursts abroad
with all her glorious light
which you, dear friar,
did so well by, but not right.

 

 

 

 

 

Twilight

Moshe snuck
back to Egypt as
he aged before 
the unpromised end 
through the Goshen
twilight of the ones 
who’d stayed behind 
he barely recognized 
his first betrothed
the one who‘d so hoped
for reconciliation
with Pharaoh and
an abundance of flesh pots
he’d seen enough intentional
corpses to know
the bloat the glassy eyes
of the slave by choice
she had been beautiful
by the seaside had he
done this? If he’d stayed would her
aliveness have followed suit?
After all, no land of promise 
would be his either? Was 
she paying the price
for his failed experiment? She saw him
and ran like always he saw himself
and walked on, turning the world 
beneath every dug heal
like always

 

 

 

 

Wayne-Daniel Berard teaches English and Humanities at Nichols College in Dudley, MA. Wayne-Daniel is a Peace Chaplain, an interfaith clergy person, and a member of B’nai Or of Boston. He has published widely in both poetry and prose, and is the co-founding editor of Soul-Lit. His latest book, a novella, is Everything We Want (Bloodstone Press). He lives in Mansfield, MA with his wife, The Lovely Christine.