The Weight of Yesterday by Eric Pankey

Mary

Megan

Like a fish trap woven from grasses,

It allows passage of the element

In which it is suspended.

Like the light at Lascaux,

It is transparent

And dissolves as salt does on the tongue.

A fragile filament of graphite

Or three columbine seeds,

Or a dime would tip the scales.

Rolled between your fingers,

It crumbles like a dried sage leaf

To fragrant dust wind disperses.

You wonder how such a small thing,

Removed as if a mote from your eye,

Could have caused such irritation.

Held in your palm, it is a smidgen,

An iota, a whit, nothing

A tear could not wash away.