they saw her in the reeds
a kind of mosaic influence
the events of her life
had been described as nervous
the small phases, shuffling,
past electric buildings,
injected her with a taste
for neglected paintings, dogs
she was reconstructed via valium
the chronology of her escape
is subject to debate but verdant
retention pond grass
shone a bright corona
her shadow, they said, did not
expand in the sunlight
she experienced mournful heaves
as the evenings progressed
the poor neglected mother
she’d burned her hair her dress
later, when our tears swam
down the netted sod,
into mosaic-looking ponds
the news of her arrest
clotted our eardrums
lay waste to lunar battlefields
we grow old and death
laps blood at the doorstep
Clay Cantrell holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Memphis. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Sycamore Review, New Delta Review, Crazyhorse, The Journal, and elsewhere.