It's Going well
(The Eight of Diamonds)
Brandie Trent
The crowd is large.
All the right ones.
All my pretty chickens.
They look so good.
Black. Prim. Halos golden.
My roses are red.
The prayers,
The songs.
The bright blue rectangle sky and light
Clouds moving by left to right.
Stillness.
The hum of the earth
echos through the wood.
The gentle close of the lid,
the slow fading of light,
and the comfortable adjustment to the dark.
The decent is a smooth elevator ride
(Well done, young men.)
and the laying on of the dirt
(soft loose powder)
sprinkled in even movements
the way my mother taught me to sprinkle on the sugar.
All the right ones.
All my pretty chickens.
They look so good.
Black. Prim. Halos golden.
My roses are red.
The prayers,
The songs.
The bright blue rectangle sky and light
Clouds moving by left to right.
Stillness.
The hum of the earth
echos through the wood.
The gentle close of the lid,
the slow fading of light,
and the comfortable adjustment to the dark.
The decent is a smooth elevator ride
(Well done, young men.)
and the laying on of the dirt
(soft loose powder)
sprinkled in even movements
the way my mother taught me to sprinkle on the sugar.