|Issue 6:||January 2021|
1. the day my grandmother dies, one plastic clock turns backwards (like pulling in a few breaths before diving) the phone rings five minutes later to tell us she has died 2. they hold the baby out of the incubator— goldboned and opal—breaths still wet with ichor they hold the tiny wings—breathe each time he breathes 3. crows don’t carry the bones from this world to the filter-lands crows mourn the oily rash of feathers on my driveway they accuse me from the wires—scratching ice out of my lungs 4. gilgamesh (with his boarliver overalls) comes to siduri as she sips wine from a skull—she almost spits it out tells him go home—i don’t care who you are 5. of course eve says yes to the serpent—the naked man just talks in circles yes—to this veinpulp fruit which tastes like waking
To learn more about the genesis and rules of this new poetic form, see:
Gleam: Journal of the Cadralor.
As an RN in the great Pacific Northwest, Scott Ferry helps our Veterans heal. In other lives, he taught English and practiced acupuncture. He also serves as Senior Editor at Gleam: Journal of the Cadralor, and his writing appears in American Journal of Poetry, Cultural Weekly, KYSO Flash, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Misfit, Noble/Gas Qtrly, Slippery Elm, Spillway, and Swimming with Elephants, among others. His first collection, The only thing that makes sense is to grow, was published by Moon Tide Press in December 2019. His second book, Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies, is now available from Main Street Rag.
Poet’s website: https://ferrypoetry.com
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