48 53 58 63…Februaries Schisms as Chasms

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The five-year gap between the times that you

And I were born, our ages (ever spread)

Will never be erased until the skew

Of death for one of us.  I’ll go ahead,

Statistically, since sixty months are wide

Between our births.  I’ll be the first

Unless the Christ makes death your blue-eyed bride.

He lurks within your destiny, the worst

With stealthiness.  A  sneaky lightning bolt

And Shenandoah river are within

His quiver.  You might feel the jolt

But maybe not, according to your sin.

  Unlucky that pathologist who aims

    To find your killer in His lightning’s flames.

[A fragmentt of this sonnet was lost for more than 10 years.  It was found and finished on November 25, 2025.]

~ Phillip Whidden