Around a Tired Circle
- Jul 10, 2020
- 1 min read
by Lee Potts
We pried rocks up from the creek that turned the mill’s wheel for years and found a silver coin and then a mirror.
Water ran out its hollow handle, down your hand and arm, ruining your white shirt with rust.
In the wet, cracked glass the new moon was broken and low in the sky behind you.
Mayfly larvae curled and fed between the rocks, waiting to surface, to split down their back,
and to fly away from their last empty shell for a day or two before falling to the ground or back into the water.
Coming down the mountain, we took an hour we didn’t have to stop at a junk shop.
We bought a wood box full of parts pulled from dismantled clocks and watches — cool brass gears and springs, chimes long accustomed to silence.
Lee Potts is a poet with work in many journals including Rust + Moth, Whale Road Review, UCity Review, Parentheses Journal, Riggwelter, and Sugar House Review. He is poetry editor at Barren Magazine. His first chapbook, And Drought Will Follow, will be released by Frosted Fire Press later this year. He lives just outside of Philadelphia and you can find him on Twitter @LeePottsPoet or online at leepotts.net.
