I.
And in my wake
I leave only black
II.
Dodo. Dinosaur.
The tongue of history waits to devour you
III.
In the cornfield, the boy sips from the pond. I see him drowning, with no way to help.
He wanted to be Saddam Hussein or Al Capone. Genghis Khan or Osama bin Laden. General Pinochet or Bernie Madoff. He wanted to drain marshes, improvise men like dolls on sticks blunt enough to live, to win the unwinnable, to speak and feel pride and terror and welcome.
Then he had a kid, and he walked on water.
* poem, in its entirety, is available in the printed version of the current issue.
Bio:
AN Grace is a writer living in Liverpool, England. His works of fiction and poetry have appeared or are forthcoming in Free Inquiry, Young Magazine, the Racket, and Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, among other publications.