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January 2021
Scott Ferry
ferry.scott@gmail.com / ferrypoetry.com
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? 
                        

writer’s bio

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
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the author (email address above) to tell her or him. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is what builds the community at Verse Virtual. It is very important. -JL
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