Nick Visconti

Splinter, Coda

Nick Visconti

Splinter,
Coda

Mary spills a fleeing haunted terror
as honeycomb cuss, ordained beds bear
     the border of begonias knifing human
          in that lathing of repurposed harmony,
     bearable change. There, talk leaks
icing my machine through return thunder,

more requests, a snapper’s red will
to light arms spinning the wail our river
     bifurcates: dog, pine, anything lily.
          Luke, can’t dahlias bank Laurent,
     laurelled children, drone-struck arroyos,
children in rooms of kids hip with fact—

let Mary’s like of hydrangea gift re
red. Lord, everything night slobbers
     the kids remember: grief, the auscultating
          state, skies wrecked by fever, Benadryl,
     shadows, pictures, hearts—remember.
Laurent adrift, mom existing. She,

who weeds bells of dirt, all fist.
What squares his saxophone: Laurent’s
     green striding, hydrangea ragged, sends
          azalea grief. Ballots place weight,
     walk, tick frogs, a crush remembered,
backyard paid then scratched. Lord of bulb,

frenetic perfect love clipping the memorial
guide, call the worming stereo, drink
     his wood crown anew, widow stabled
          truth again sleeping, desert worn
     clots shroud the snow of frantic December,
a cricket mourning the fabric past all

beside the poem’s silk. Ask others
does its chest heap lumin, dance? Listen:
     the friend works clefs lightened, bargaining
          perfected soot unheard, ups Mary’s
     escitalopram address by night.
Dawn-speared Lord, everything names

itself a moment cut past a life of splitting
ruins; hands God a dove of office.
     I change, existing on, down, in
          or up, drops foothills in a gold
     dance, whips streetlamps cold
and running, seawall rock bargaining—almighty:

what feathers name divinity, a true learning.
History compelled Mary. The mourning branches
     a blue mumble blown at what’s stitching
          her MRI hums, the shadows drink bargaining
      reconfigured flowers, pour comfort,
return dusk as a covered bedside painting,

held laughter God clipped into each
rogue’s uneaten heirloom sleeve.
     Beneath more beer, the struggle of Mary’s wooden
          needle, Zofran, torn unrest, refusals.
     Canopies blur, flower grace, sirens
riff. Mary, the boulevards sound drawn,

laurel fog lights giftshop nostalgia,
dog-bound offers yawn with time,
     dreams from a crash now gummed with anguish.
          This brilliant yard aria hands embedded
     gray rain clouds crows where dogwoods
sprout hydrangea lignifying the morning

silent in fragments, rocks running, hospital
beating dismembered a world burnt of mess
     basking, bargaining, lifted, and no head wilts
          stupidly. Wild stucco bottling diligence
     down to Mary handles beloved fractals
before one unsaid begonia grain. Some exist

alone in brief alto drips through brushes
muffled parting, people dotting the promise
     corroborating a gathered word. Mary’s garden
          fledged orange could encode things haunting
     a hallmark inscribed for every part balding,
blocked trees stagnant, walls inside,

light finds cacti misting eternal,
knowing a dove’s faint dove-truth.
     Kids laid past silence beneath
          never young mirror studies. Mary’s
     night-refrain by memory slips shadow,
clarity eyed our fenestrate the maybe hides.

Landscape’s white muscle scatters care,
learned I’m the moth’s density branching, knifing
     a split name. Wholly winter the begonias
          lily intervals petal sound fully
     sewing running mounds, yucca in hospitals,
hope bygone, the yarrow ripping beyond

air, the beginning recalled. Long-lived
soft coos curling, road receding,
     going cracked into horned rain twisted
          thin. Tell me, with anthers fried, azalea
     huck the dropsy swollen dark hovering,
name dissolving undone, collapsing.

Flower in a father-singing cloud,
his desk’s tulip-stethoscope calling
     for collision, a death like song entirely reached
          day through permission, knows anemones
     in the yard, below that riff, never passive,
the ears divide beginning bells, speeding

Engrained hair-flame shawl. Their lawsuit
fathomed no colder leaf could earth
     say sends rot past Albuquerque, between
          facts, beer bargaining time concealing
     glyph-grief, bell-need in waves
hanging. Laurent bargaining, searching, working

the afternoon of making. At last
endurance, descent, send invading
     chimes awaiting lightning in words hanging
          a prescription: I won’t change it, Mary.
     I won’t change anything at all.

Nick Visconti is a writer living in Brooklyn, NY. He plays softball on Sundays.

   Featured in:

Red Rock Review

Issue 53