by David Rodriguez
Whether it’s one year or five decades
before we board an ark of silica ceramics,
of flexible insulation blankets or whatever
we have (oak timber and tallow, like do-it-
yourself Vikings), may I be done
with all my pettiness and grief,
all my lists of tired resentments
and whimpering dreams of renewal,
bedside medicines, phone calls to
no one and profile pic filters.
May I rise in sizzling atmosphere,
Capcom cheering at the moment of
half earth, half other, half abundance,
half tathata, and none of me
as I’ve always known myself:
tired and fearful, numb, perkless,
searching for someone to sense
what I mean when I look with
full eyes or smile in the glow
as I undergo halation.
David Rodriguez is a writer and teacher based in New Orleans with an MFA from Florida State University. He has previously been published in the New Orleans Review, The Southeast Review, The Sandy River Review, Hawai'i Review, and Jarfly, among other places.
January House Literary Journal 
Leave a reply to spooky8d28c85a14 Cancel reply