Eternal Return
A crocus from the rotting flesh
of a hedgehog, placed with the pansies
from a rusted Ford carcass
and the hyacinths plucked
from steaming dung
emerging from melting snow.
I lay my bouquet on the bonfire
built for the goddess
who strides through brutal storms,
vowing in her nicotine rasp
to lead the way to the sacral plane.
Another lie of spring.
In the cloying scent
of a spring breeze, the sky
cluttered with portents, I find
a patch of nearly dry grass
and drift off into daggered sleep.
Dream I’m trapped in a room
filled with mirrors distorting seductively,
the soundtrack a soft sigh
breaking through non-stop weeping.
Perhaps my own.
I wake clutching a return ticket
to a place I’ve never been.
Rick Adang was born in Buffalo, New York and graduated from Indiana University with a BA in English and a Creative Writing Honors thesis. He taught English as a foreign language for many years and is currently living in Estonia. He has had poems published in Willawaw Journal, Eclectica, Panoplyzine, Avalon Literary Review, Hamilton Stone Review and other literary magazines.
