Jon Davis

Issue #
October 3, 2017


I would like to say this

night is annunciation,

that the waning moon floats

the winter sky, a wafer of light

on a tongue of darkness,

or tell you how my father

once, legend has it, pissed

in the gas tank of a ’39 Ford

and rattled the last miles home,

but who knows where this

particular darkness will take us,

smuggling us in a willow basket

across the snowy fields

while Orion grabs, with one

strong arm, three rabbits by the ears,

with the other hoists

an armful of kindling, and plods

steadily across the sky. I meant

to tell you to breathe deeply,

meant to say I’ll be back,

in darkness or light, meant

to say we’ll lay a fire, roast

these mealy rabbits and sing

at the end of this short day a song

about light, how it comes again,

untended, regardless, hands out

in supplication, asking

forgiveness for being itself,

for being a disturbance of air

between the wings of night,

for promising us so much

that darkness finally delivers.

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