Once as a child you believed the graveyard shift
meant whole cemeteries uprooting themselves &
passing like ghosts through cities
to some other hills
that would accept them as they were,
would take them in
with the grace of an unhinged door.
I loved birds before “put a bird on it” was a thing. Birds are delicate, and I have never been that word. Continue reading
we run for reassurance of what is
found and all thoughts vanish, our hands cupped
the night yellow and spilling in our quiet coming
it was spring & thin sheets fenced
each body from the other bodies
i tried listening, put my ear to the cold, once
but i fell through
We lost our boys to outer space and so we’ve buried them at sea.
The next boy who doesn’t come back is gonna have his memory thrown into the ocean too, and the one after him, and after him, and him. And I mean it’s only logical.
In addition to excretion (for example the purging of material goods, selling the doll house,… hurling the couch into the ditch where it will sit, half its stuffing
spilling out and beginning to disintegrate, too, until the maggots move in, hundreds of tiny living moons and how they work)
to eliminate a substance from the body.
I didn’t choose the poems in this issue based on their technical skill, or original voice, or unique imagery – I chose them because when I had finished reading them and was washing the dishes or writing an email, they were the ones that came back to me. Continue reading