Leveler Poetry Journal
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There is a lot of work that actually goes on to prepare for nothingness

 

There is a way, gray
of guardrail at interstate’s edge, Eau Claire,
Wisconsin. Home is one
interruption of vowels, regret
a heap of unbroken bones + out
the car window hills roll
like ankles, wheels, some film’s reel, a movie
like the bird your friend said you have to see
to believe it. She meant not the stark-raving red cardinal flecking
like devilspit through mapleshade
but the lone robin chick, fresh-
hatched, dazed+ dozing as it awaited
its mother’s return, how tufty
with new puffs of not-even-feathers, how gray
+translucent its loose flesh, your friend
had been drinking, trying to explain
something about a man neither of you
knew anymore, just a Facebook friend
updating the world on his two kids+wife, his life unfurling
so unlike what you’d expected
when you’d dreamed of going wherever
he’d take you in the cherry
red Camaro of his youth, anywhere in
finitely distant from this returned-to realm, the midwest
with its thick skin+passages cleaving
through raw green lushness vivid
as a spot-lit card trick you keep telling yourself
you’ll figure out if you see it just one
more time, just one more time, again.




Weston Cutter