Editor’s Choice
COMING AROUND
The soul just wants to be left alone
in the car with the moon-roof open
and the seat rolled all the way back.
She locks the doors and squints through
space at quiet stars and winking planes.
She is dropping out of pulse, that hard
pentameter. She turns her unlined face
from drying bones and skin. Asleep
at the wheeling starry sky, she looses
her lips like an opening rose. The soul
lets her eyes roll to a darker side, tunes
the radio to no sound at all. A rose is red
in her hair: a flare, a tropic. She warms
to this climate, slips away. The rose
opens to hold her dreams. Then lets them
go. The soul wakes with a chill, closes
the roof, shifts into time and place.
Shakes a clot of petals from her lap.
Now Available @ Porkbelly Press
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Everything I Own by Angela Just