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Poetry

John Myers

By October 13th, 2021 No Comments

Rubbed clean as summer

The gaudily painted poles,

the ruined orchard of me

wanting you, I wished I could

tell all these fantasies off.

I see your name in the flowers

that have no antecedent.

Most days I don’t want to keep

the circle going but whales,

new-born, must surface at once

to breathe (and your eyes out me).

Night blots its own

 

The cool grotto in the hills

I could still feel it working

that time of day, every day,

curling in on itself,

a leather pouch with molars.

Another place I’d been told

was not mine. You ask if I

have a bag, people walk through

us as through a curtain. You

collect your mouth up

and the gesture makes me want to,

too, to match its triumph.

 

 

 

 

John Myers lives in Moscow, Idaho. His book Smudgy and Lossy was published by the Song Cave in 2018.