Photography © Edward S. Gault
Cauliflower is the turgidly herbaceous limit
between elastic stem and wooden trunk. No wonder
the white cloud head is obsessed with melting,
coldly reducing metal and rock to smelt and lava,
obsessed with the intangible, relativist limits of
eternity’s cruciferous cruciform hovering Christ-figures
and guardian garden Angelus cracked and bark-like
ancient gatekeepers where animals on stilt-legged hooves
horizon-hop between fences and horizontal obelisk
promontories, brows, elbows cutting angles around
doors that attract lobsters, baked beans waging war
on mere broccoli and sprouts and other greens
contrasted against vivid blue storm skies clouding with
Terry Trowbridge’s poems have appeared in The New Quarterly, Carousel, subTerrain, paperplates, The Dalhousie Review, untethered, The Nashwaak Review, Orbis, Snakeskin Poetry, M58, CV2, Brittle Star, Bombfire, American Mathematical Monthly, The Academy of Heart and Mind, Canadian Woman Studies, The Mathematical Intelligencer, The Canadian Journal of Family and Youth, The Journal of Humanistic Mathematics, The Beatnik Cowboy, Borderless, Literary Veganism, and more. His lit crit has appeared in Ariel, Hamilton Arts & Letters, Episteme, Studies in Social Justice, Rampike, and The /t3mz/ Review.
Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine arts photographer living in Brighton, Massachusetts. His work has appeared in Oddball Magazine, Spectrum, Wilderness House Literary Review, Interlude, Currents, and Encore.