Clarice Hare


These things always come in threes

 

Three a.m. side-lighting and night-
lights cast from the sunless globe.
Three cultures. Three
disparate panoramas. Traversing behind
a dust-covered horse, murmuring as if
to the water buffalo your life
once depended upon, while I
watch for the vet’s headlights.

The air moves in the unbroken
luminosity of the landscape.
Nocturnal insects. Banded stumps of
roots reaching for the sun. Unseen
spring-bells fluttering in the wind.
Three generations of bedtime stories
told in houses tucked behind
scalloped hedges and swollen oaks.

The distances all one, the enormity
all one. The void never looses
those it grasps, and their empty
absences make time move forward
faster than it can ever truly
pass. It moves
with you.

 

 

 

 

 

Clarice Hare grew up in the Midwestern U.S. and bounced around a fair bit before finally settling in Florida. Her poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in detritus, Fleas on the Dog, Ephemeral Elegies, Aromatica Poetica, Amethyst Review, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, SurVision, South Florida Poetry Journal, and Arsenika.