by Puneet Dutt

“Insects in this photo are simply trying to navigate.”—After a photo by David McNew

 

On the drive home, my son asks
about the word, forever—

could I define it? I cast around,
like how did the housefly arrive—

the one that can’t be caught.
The one for days, smacks

abdomen against hot bulbs,
convinced of fickle suns.

Always, I scramble,
my tongue full of beans, spilled.

Has anything lived forever?
Surely pyramids in their smug

assurances come close enough—
ginkgos and horseshoe crabs,

metazoan taxons assigned
to bioluminescence. Amazing

we say, for acing a century.
Then my son offers this

apologia: Until the end of your life,
and when you’re with god.

But what of Dolania americana?
An aunt in palliative care

with a note to pull the plug—
yet, no one has the heart

—inside the bedside table,
above which fresh flowers

arrive with each new visitor.
There she sits, bearing the brunt

of time opening buds.
Our children across her eyes, dart.

We hold her hand. Like, what else
is there to do? As long as we move

the speed of light continues
to deceive us.

 

 

 

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Dutt’s The Better Monsters was a Finalist for the Trillium Book Award for Poetry and was Shortlisted for the Raymond Souster Award. Her most recent chapbook was Longlisted for the 2020 Frontier Digital Chapbook Contest, selected by Carl Phillips. Her website is puneetdutt.com and she is on Twitter @Puneet_Dutt and Instagram @puneetdutt.