Poetry: Self by Mary Ann Honaker

In a blue-gray cloud moisture gathers;
it adheres to itself until round and full

and singular. It is a thing apart
from other things, it is heavy

and it hurtles toward earth
as all singular things must,

bound by gravity, its stern law.
For a few seconds it is a self,

others fall with it but they are
separate, their falling is not

its falling, it owns its descent
lonely in the cooling air.

It falls into a river; all
of its siblings fall also

into the water or the earth.
They come together, a new object,

they are gone yet not gone,
they flow in unison, the round

boundaries of each singularity
dissolved. They seek the sea,

as wide and wild and grave
a thing as eternity.

Mary Ann Honaker is the author of Becoming Persephone (Third Lung Press, 2019) and the chapbooks It Will Happen Like This (YesNo Press, 2015) and Gwen and the Big Nothing (The Orchard Street Press, 2020.) Mary holds an MFA from Lesley University. She lives in Beaver, West Virginia.

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