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Click title to download PDF microchap
Cover: 'Cosmic Flower'by Lauri Burke
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Commute
I keep turning my head to the left
and thinking the overhead light
above a fellow traveler reading
on the C&J bus is the moon.
Ninety-five toward Newburyport
is dark, and I’m looking for a light
that’s other than the one that’s
right from my iPhone screen.
My window won’t let in stars,
only tracks of clouds upon
the broader galaxy.
Today rolls on toward the end.
Appeared in Mineral Lit Mag #4.2, Fall 2020
and inspired author’s short YouTube video.
Aubade in orange
The moon oranged
hours ago and
left. To leave as
well when morning
comes is your set
plan. Soon enough
the sun will come
oranging all.
Now, orange light,
creeping in here,
arranging what
we both know is
already here:
oranges on
the table set
for peeling raw.
Appeared in Melted Butter Magazine #2,
Spring 2021.
The Last Tenement House
If it were not
for the bare fact
that subtraction
is creative
you would not be
what you now are.
If just one more
of what you are
still sprawled around
this part of town,
then who here could
develop a
sensation of
the loneliness
we otherwise
project away?
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Half-moon over Worcester
Halo glitching
distorting the
white ear glowing
over bent three-
deckers—does this
fog precede the
divine? or is
it now made clear
we should expect
merely one more
week of clouds and
rain? Everything
hinges on you—
everything waits
down here on you
hearing our word
75 Wash
What else is there
that’s as purely
creative as
that one floor tile
sitting before
your eyes as you
sit writing in
your notebook with
spare lines stretching
sideways, catching
you as the white
recedes as the
words crowd out the
space there as you
realize you’re
on a tile floor?
Late October Friday, Madbury Road
In a couple of hours the rain,
as if giving what it had been
holding back—a summer's worth of water
to bust the drought at once,
making up for lost, dry
time—would shock the gold trees
bald, then leave them on the roadside
like mummy monks begging
a midday drink. But that would be
all then. Under the dimming sky,
that wasn't here yet. What was here—
charged with twilight—glowing
heads of street lamps showing
the yellow path free and clear.
Appeared in Poppy Road Review,
Feb 19, 2017
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Matt Stefon © 2021
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