Searching for What Remains

Searching for What Remains

Matthew Miller

Ravens gather in dark pines. Crying cleft and aery,
I used to think of them as demons. At market before dawn, 
Galileans still in hollow sleep. Most have gone. At the temple, 
metal spikes defend the sacrifice. Wingless doves, lifeless sheep.
Nests of stolen wool, young birds are hungry. Wood planks 
steeped in tilapia and sardines, sold and smoked in the past 
day’s feasts. As I mutter morning blessings, the gate opens
to the garden. Tulips and knapweed droop the path. Still no light,
walking to meleke tombs. Me, the Magdalene, 
bearing the spices. Aloe and myrrh. The hyssop to dip 
and preserve. The damp bindweed between my toes. 
Silence in the cypress knots. A somber raven
directs me in this dry land. Today I must say 
goodbye. Clean linens, the body wrapped before it rises
with the stench of neglect. When someone you love dies,
you dwell on what they won’t do again. This dark bird
of regret. It was first out from the ark, trying to find new earth. 
But we don’t know what happened then, midrash says 
it quarreled with God, angry and unkosher. The quarry splits 
beneath my bare feet. My tears have been asking God why 
he’s not tiptoeing this charlock with me. Cold 
commatic cries. He was never appalled by our thrashing
at night. He’d unroll the scrolls of Elijah and ravens, 
they were harbingers of life.

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Matthew Miller
Poet & Teacher

Matthew teaches social studies, swings tennis rackets, and writes poetry - all hoping to create home. He and his wife live beside a dilapidating orchard in Indiana, where he tries to shape dead trees into playhouses for his four boys. His poetry has been featured in Whale Road Review, River Mouth Review, and EcoTheo Review. His poetry can be found at mattleemiller.wixsite.com/poetry and on Twitter: @mattleemiller32.

Photography by Bogdan Khamidullin