• sample journal 03
  • 28, september - 2016
  • One
    by Andy Stallings

    I remember a face that I drank like water.
    The hot afternoon sky seemed,
    at the edges, painted –

    dripping white, hot and crushing
    over the pines. Resin spread a net
    over the clearing where
    we searched for magnetite.

    Everywhere, sap slid
    imprisoning insects I wouldn’t
    even call surprised.

    Gramma fixed a drink and one for later, fed us
    butter crackers. There were too many fish in that
    creek. When I closed my eyes they were all I could
    see, slick shadowy torsos rotating, bumping,
    rotating –
    It was very quiet.
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