Issue 2



Christopher Lee Miles




To see such thrust, such lift, alofting house-lids
and heifers, pickup trucks and telephone poles:
all blown in the haze-grey sky-gyre. To see each
plucked, pancaked, and sliver-split structure;
each vacuumed-clean machine shed: tractors
wrenched and gripped by windforce, pitched
past the State Line Road, into the marsh. Then,
to see that sunflower, its yellow fruiting-head,
unscathed in the heart of a storm-clawed field.