Death happens slower than you imagined.
The green velvet couch he lies on.
The nurse and the doorbell she rings every day.
The same old routine stretching into
new life.
Months go by and your mother drinks herself
sick. Now there are hospital beds blocking
the kitchen, more nurses, more
time.
You are alone counting shells on the beach
counting cigarette butts and the wind
fierce its rawness circles your back
like a parent this world how it spins
every day like a parent how it makes time
go on.
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Issue 59
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Editor's Note
-
Poetry
-
Fiction
-
Book Review
- David Rigsbee reviews Inventing Constellations
by Al Maginnes
- David Rigsbee reviews Inventing Constellations