WHAT I AM TRYING TO TELL YOU IS Her name could have been anything, anything wet and unburning. Besides, you don’t need a name to make a prayer: like all air, they resist such things. Invocation is tricky. You never who will come when you call. You can end up with things you never asked
SUMMER STUDY For summer: swallow the petal and the bee and blow first-rate sour diesel into my mouth. This is what you do in Ohio, you’re gonna fit right in. In Ohio we cherish our hauntings, but it’s okay—you’ll learn to share. Ohio’s most important lesson is to love unconditionally and I’m afraid I need
ORIGIN STORY WITH CAR CRASH A squeal of brakes. / Or is it a birth cry? =========—Sylvia Plath I was the only one in the car. All at once I was not in the car, I was driving my mother’s car down the onramp I could drive with my eyes closed—could you tell me
We’re pleased as Punch to feature poems by Adam Day, TTR Contributing Editor and author of MODEL OF A CITY IN CIVIL WAR. Day’s “Juhan Ahfel” appears in the 2018 issue of TTR. Feast your eyes on other works of his here.
Sakya Refuge for slum folk whose grandparents still believe in magic prepare to become atomic scientists on the streets. A man ducks in and out of traffic shouts and throws imaginary grenades that actually exploded in War or boy gangsters wield homemade pistols. He saw a face in the fog but it was only
Viridian Akasa Day is late and has no horse. Icicles on concertina wire. Strange being people. I cannot see my object self. Miss grandmother and her son. She says, Get the hell over it. Easy to find not me. It’s okay. It was never my life. Wipe and re-wipe aged shrunken grandmother. Tangle of
Inki Fen Thieves interrupt Neighbor meditating like a shadow pacing a warehouse floor, minutes short of enlightenment. Refuse to spare her a bit longer, decapitate her and a bull they’ve stolen – her blood-jets foundry fires ghosting the river’s mudflats. In fury she becomes Yama—indigo-skinned, scarlet-soled—takes the bull’s pronged head for her own, impaling