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The answer we all seek is somewhere, hidden at the top of a stairway in a locked room at the bottom of a drawer, where ancient dust has settled over the cover though it is not ticking, it is timeless like a rose, all ruby and scarlet beside the purple flowers, a little still life, by a lake. Yet, in the hazy grey light of day it's just a poem of hope and hopelessness like slashing light in a subway window because the truth is we have lost all memory of what the question might be. |
| Joseph McDonough: I am a stockbroker living in northeastern Pennsylvania, having worked in the World Trade Center prior to 9/11, I began writing poetry in the wake of this monumental tragedy. I soon found myself writing poetry of "witness" as a way memorialize the many victims of terrorism, wars, and holocausts. I have been published in several literary journals, most recently, The Penwood Review, and as a featured poet in Poetry Life and Times, London, Stylus Poetry Journal, Australia, and The Hypertexts. email: jlmmcdonough@comcast.net |
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