Bruce Morton


And So It Goes

I consider my experience
With urns unearned, just came
With the territory that is life.

The first was hard, the second not
So. The first as father, the second
As son. The first the unexpected one,

The second inevitable. First ash
Wafted in sunshine, second ash
Poured paste in the rain.




Worry Stone

It is ovalesque, a small flattened egg,
Jet-black as the devil s gallstone,
Cradled in fingers bent to its shape,
Smooth, with but a hint of texture.
More compact, more efficient than a rosary,
The thumb moves gently, strokes, caresses
In small ellipses or back and forth.
Press hard when pressed hard, concentrate
Energy, I feel the heat flow from me to it
And back, it to me. I grasp it is something

I must hold on to—and there s the rub.





Bruce Morton splits his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have recently appeared in Muddy River Poetry Review, Main Street Rag, Nixes Mate Review, Ibbetson Street, and San Pedro River Review. He was formerly Dean of Libraries at Montana State University.