S. Yarberry's poem "A Kind of Lightning" appears in Issue 58: What Remains.
A Kind of Lightning
The days pass—selected,
and each morning comes—
hot and slow. Another
to blow off steam. Mosquitoes
are so unquenchable,
this time of year.
stuck on its back
near the brown
wood bookcase. We find so
many ways to kill
ourselves. When day breaks
what will become of us?
The yellow finch. The squirrel
digging in the garden.
Death, obviously. But what else?
After the glamour shatters.
The lipstick tube empties. Condoms
all gone from the drawer. O a pile.
A heap. A body. How horrible.
I think it’s okay to be angry,
I say. I am saying all the time now.
There was a small fire
in the yard last night.
I put it out with the last of my beer.
Remember? You touched my hand.
It’s all I think about. The yellow
finch like peripheral lightning.
It’s so easy to miss these things.
S. Yarberry is a trans poet and writer. Their poetry has appeared in Tin House, Indiana Review, pulpmouth, The Offing, jubilat, Notre Dame Review, The Boiler, miscellaneous zines, among others. Their other writings can be found in Bomb Magazine, The Adroit Journal, and Blake/An Illustrated Quarterly. They currently serve as the poetry editor of The Spectacle. S. has their MFA in Poetry from Washington University in St. Louis and is now a PhD candidate in English literature at Northwestern University.
Comments will be approved before showing up. We don't allow comments that are disrespectful or personally attack our blog writers.