issue 7
// poetry
Untitled American Sonnet [In the murk of]
by Jackson Burgess
In the murk of my mind, my brother is
wading, arms laden with hymnbooks he hopes
to bring his children. It’s I who’ll read them.
He stomps ashore & a thousand peeping tree frogs
fall around his feet. Seneca says all are
born to die. I recite Ichikyo’s death is death,
Akhmatova’s slaughter memory to live. All solid,
but who’s going to help me steer this bone canoe
now that the river’s fallen dark?
Shenandoah summers harken horseflies & smallmouth.
Pellets of orange PowerBait, docks & stilted homes.
The frogs fall silent when a painted turtle drops.
Ruefle told me, Children need not only words, but song.
Standing in my brother’s Timberlands, I clear my throat.
about the author // Jackson Burgess
| Jackson Burgess is the author of Atrophy (Write Bloody Publishing, 2018) and the chapbook Pocket Full of Glass (Tebot Bach, 2017). A poetry/fiction dual-admit to the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, he’s placed poems, stories, and criticism in Poetry, Tin House, The Los Angeles Review, Colorado Review, The Millions, and elsewhere. |
Instagram: @_jacksonburgess
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