By Bruno Talerico
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Poems are time capsuleswritten for peopleto read later,a way of speakingto our descendants. © 2025 Bruno Talerico161/365
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I am Siddhartha and Hannibal. The human bodyis composed of vastly more atomsthan the total number of humans who ever lived. I am Jesus Christ and Adolf Hitler Atoms constantly recycle and recombinetherefore, it is a statistical certaintythat I am made of atoms that were onceTricky Dick and Dr. King. I am Mother Teresa and…
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Drum Beat.Drum Beat.Drum Beat. Captivated observers witness fire eaters,tracing sinuous dancers. Drum Beat. Reverberating hearts synchronize. Drum Beat. Stars fire light into the night. Drum Beat.Drum Beat.Drum Beat. © 2026 Bruno Talerico158/365
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The kayakcould have been my coffin. I now realize it was my cocoon,my chrysalis. Drowning could have ended my life,instead, it was my metamorphosis. © 2026 Bruno Talerico156/365
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It is what it is,isn’t it? © 2026 Bruno Talerico154/365
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It isn’t exactly poetry, it isn’t exactly prose. It’s not as precise as technical writing and not as gossipy as a tabloid. It’s a little bit comicand sometimes morose. It is, to paraphrase that much-maligned expression,what it is. © 2026 Bruno Talerico155/365
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Sensory organs—fundamentally the only waywe can know the world. Caress of an autumn breeze,hot chocolate and caramel, petrichor of first summer rain,chill of night, sunshine sight. Sensation funneling into the brainwhere our mind canevaluate,categorizeand tabulate…until we come to our census. © 2026 Bruno Talerico157/365
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He died just before noon on his ninety-third birthday. When I was a baby, Dad bathed me, changed my diapers,and fed me.When I was two, I had pneumoniaand caused a few sleepless nights.When I was four, he taught me how to shavewith shaving cream on my faceand a teaspoon in my hand. When he was…
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Dad’s been pretty much out of it–he hasn’t saidbut a few wordsin the last couple of days. I was in his bathroom last night,standing and peeing.I must have had a bit of gas,because a whispery,mellifluous fart escaped. Imagine my surprisewhen Dad shouted, clear as day— “control yourself! “ Guess he’s not totally out of it……
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I’m weary but OK.Having the support of Hospicehas been a great help.When they’re not here,Eric and I are doing a pretty good jobof keeping Dad clean and comfortable.We’re giving each other breaks when possible.Most of the time Dad sleeps,and there are moments of panicwhen it’s hard to tell if he’s still breathing. Walking the tightrope…
