by David Rosenthal
In memoriam Brian Wilson
If everything is upside down
and backwards, as it seems to be,
then we should see fragility
as virtuous, and hear the sound
of weeping love as strength. We should
behold a penchant to break down
with awe, and bless the hallowed ground
of teary joy and childish good.
A guy I knew in grad school said,
“I’d hate to see the freak who’s well
adjusted to this world.” We tell
ourselves that isn’t us, we’ve fed
our egos with a comforting
belief that someone who adapts
survives. But without a collapse,
without an aching, broken string
of failures, we can never be
resilient, never truly sing
a harmony that makes a wing
of sorrow, fluttering but free.
David Rosenthal is a public school teacher in Berkeley, California. He has contributed to Rattle, HAD, Rust & Moth, Birmingham Poetry Review, Teachers & Writers Magazine, and others. He’s been a Nemerov Sonnet Award Finalist and Pushcart Nominee. He’s the author of The Wild Geography of Misplaced Things (Kelsay Books).
