John Schneider

Blank Canvas

Every defect smoothed over, skin
ironed out like a bedsheet.  Your air-
brushed brow gone all porcelain
and untrue.  Still, I reach out for
your bloodless hand, repeating
I’m sorry and I’m still trying
to forgive you, as if you could part
those sewn up lips to reply.  As if
those stage curtains would ever open again.
As if a body is a blank canvas
and the faint stippling moonlight
through the funeral home window
is a bright beginning. My eyes close
in kind.  I finally witness. My hand
moves tenderly over your hands, crossed
over your chest without malice
or grace.  Our fingers laced together,
holding tight a complicated history.
Shards of a cold November rain
fall warmly from my face to yours
smearing the powder, breaking
the silence.

John Schneider lives in Berkeley, California. His debut collection, Swallowing the Light, is forthcoming in 2022 from Kelsay Books. His work has been published in The Worcester Review, Tampa Review,The Inflectionist Review, The American Journal of Poetry, California Fire and Water: A Climate Crisis Anthology, and elsewhere. His poetry has been a Merit Award winner in the Atlanta Review 2021 International Poetry Competition He is also a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee.