Mudlark No. 46 (2012)


I knew a man once—an air
traffic controller
by day—who believed
the dead could be shivered into

               through him.
His name was Frank
(the name alone

made the trance
that shook him awake

seem more true).
He opened

like a trumpet
flower filling with dew:

               the dew
               of the dead.

Susan Kelly-Dewitt | Think of the Highways
Contents | Mudlark No. 46 (2012)