Commencing the Dawn of Day
Out in the yard, I hang my clothes and sheets
in the humid muck of gnats and wild rye
while my arms shine raw, bead with sweat. The sweet
rain beckons beyond, where some flock unties
between the coursing gray, a spray of gulls,
galvanized by the prospective thunder
that will follow bolt flash sky-scars. The lull
between hovers, balmy, and I wonder
why I feel fated to live life alone,
letting my pinned-up laundry sway and grasp
to the line. The rain won’t rid my cologne
from my collars, won’t mend the shreds that clasp
at each pant knee. They all sway laden. O
sheets, diaphanous to glades of willows.
Rib Knitting
love is more thicker than forget
-EE Cummings
bed green moss-sheets in the moonlight lamp glow.
o whisper stars between the shades of mesh,
of sweater smoke fragrance necking. how grow
such tremble river ease and pulse and press.
come hear our hearts hum brash as breeze as breath
as shadows rouse pulse in memoir throb slush
and squint deep inhales on a pillowed chest,
nest warm in concave ease, in smooth and lush
and rise and ease and rest. our feather thrush
fingers entwined as children, roaming through
woods where we root our veins and names in hush
and stir our souls as sheens of oil as hue
as a worn guitar pulsing, gentle throng;
both beers fizzing as buried locust songs.
Kevin Dwyer is a Catholic high school educator, inspiring his students to read and write passionately. He earned his Honors BA from Saint Louis University, MA from Fordham University, and is completing his PhD at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette. Nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize, Kevin’s chapbook, broadsides, and poems can be found at Yellow Flag Press, MockingHeart Review, and The Writing Disorder.
Grand Little Things 