Light
I remember the weight of the summer
light how it fell in tangrams
on the porcelain plates the table
was set with midafternoon
lemon-colored light only old
houses let fall into them like letters
girls let fall from their hands
to bedroom floors I liked it
better than the stained light Sunday
mornings bent through the bodies
of saints split apart like families
in wartime better than the light
of winter a light that seemed
to have passed through the wings
of houseflies to reach us the light
I’m talking about meant everyone
was alive I can still remember
its warmth on my praying hands
and if it fell across my mother’s
white throat it meant her no harm
nor did it mean any harm when
it seemed to slit my father’s wrist
I’ve been everywhere looking
for that light and I’ve never found it
to where I’m beginning to wonder
whether I only imagined it
when I die I want to die in a room
in a farmhouse in Illinois in late
afternoon I will die easy knowing
my time has come even
when I close my eyes I think
I will see it like charred staves
you can still taste in the bourbon
–Austin Smith
Tell-Tale Spot
Spot of red
on the neck
clean white shirt
Pressed stiff crisp
French-tailored
perfect fit
That blood drop
was all that
I could see.
–Phillip Larrea
