Saturday, December 25, 2010

Complications of the Journey

Complications of the Journey

Your self-inflicted gunshot lying
rattler on a hot night road
stopped me dead;
stretched out, full length
in all your glory, like in bed.

Couldn't go back or around
your unsleeping pose,
and any idiot knows
not to try
to step over
the strike zone.

Walking up in the dark
anyone might mistake 
you for a phantom limb
with phantom fangs
that sunk me
good, until a long time

later, screwing up
my courage to look again
at shadows, found
just: a sinuous trail of dust
that let me pass on.

-Susan Lynch is recovering from graduating Reed College in May, mostly by watching elk graze with her horse. She particularly likes flickers and Pictish stones, is decades older than most colleagues, and has been a bunch of things. Her poem 'Proverbial' was recently published in the Oxford University Poetry Society's magazine, ASH.

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