Era

Low-hanging sun
gone to waste like a fruit
unpicked, the sorry story
of war everywhere,
and fires south and east.

When will it heal,
our star once lucky
now gone sour?
Sun my father studied
with his spectroscope,

his penciled decimals scrawled
like insects
across yellow legal paper
to twenty places. I must
have been far younger.

All little triangles--
the pubis, the eaves
full of spiders. I believe
Alice the neighbor (she’s
95): You can taste it.

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Judith Skillman’s poems have appeared in The Cimarron Review, Commonweal, Threepenny Review, Zyzzyva, and other literary journals. She has received awards from Academy of American Poets and Artist Trust. Oscar the Misanthropist won the 2021 Floating Bridge Press Chapbook Award. Her forthcoming collection is Oppression, Shanti Arts. Visit www.judithskillman.com