Bio Note: I attempt to help our Veterans heal as a RN in the Seattle area. In former lives I taught high school, practiced acupuncture, and managed aquatic centers. I try to be funny for my lovely kids and wife, but I am mostly arthritic and cranky. I am a co-editor of Gleam: the Journal of the Cadralor. My second chapbook Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies is now available from Main St Rag.
as i rock my son to sleep
i feel his small hand pat my back just a few times before he exhales and floats is he requesting i do the same to him as i so often do? is he repeating the action which opens this bank of stars and twitchfoot mists? or is he comforting me— this loping beast laboring in the dark?
my outside always blurs sepia— fades duochrome on 1960s television my actions write orders in pools— drinking compulsories in audible gulps my sex wears a burnt track on my hands— on her night-cooled back my talk swallows the skipjack before it is threaded on a hook my jokes rattle the cage (and what is held inside) but do not pick locks i want my words to scrape years of silt off silence— to rub patina off the roof of my mouth but when i read them they are grackle on powerlines— zeros in a row of zeros
©2021 Scott Ferry
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