Grace Zha Poet Imagism

Intro To Departure

I.
“A hiatus, not a parting.”
I waited until stones gathered
on the mothy carpet of the 
living room. Then I stopped,
like mothers and fathers, 
the un-watered 
Delphiniums window-side.

II.
Laid a rusted finger on
the lip, the dredged ice,
Alaskan wind, a single
prayer before expatriation and
a loaf of pennies.
You don’t know what 	
opportune means (question mark)

III.
A thousand chests,
the ribs crumbling;
it’s a melody, a syncopation, some 
Eucharist pre-hymnal tonal exercise.
We all waited for false angels,
the permanence of grief.

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