Brightening

Poem

By Jan Wiezorek

I’ve often thought I’m too near,

and it makes me turn away.

What I thought I would receive,

so close, was frosted over,

mostly sunlight or refusal.

If the boy’s face turns toward light,

his white coat speaks like creation.

He says, How’s it going? I was thinking

of prayer, so surprised he spoke,

like silk ribbons that accompany memory.

And I thought of you. Fine, thank you.

I’m so sorry for your loss. Family there

caring for the funeral flowers, and the boy

standing, waiting, still doing it, his words,

gestures, all controlled mercy like a walk

along the creek of charism, vultures today,

smelling death’s memory in a ravine.

I am certain I saw a turkey vulture’s wings,

globally spread into a cross above leafless oaks,

then turning into our surviving sunflowers,

into your face, brightening into feathered

remembrance, into a peace sign for a boy

with flowers, into a church, with no crutches

to support our walled-in ceremonies.

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Jan Wiezorek (he/him) writes from rural Michigan. He authored the poetry chapbooks Forests of Woundedness (Seven Kitchens Press, 2026) and Prayer’s Prairie (Michigan Writers Cooperative Press, 2025). His poetry is forthcoming in The MacGuffin, The Comstock Review, and Dunes Review. Wiezorek is an awardee of the Poetry Society of Michigan and a two-time Pushcart Prize nominee. Visit him at janwiezorek.substack.com.