Issue 4 Cover_final_web Poecology

Issue 4

 

 
 

Rob Carney

 

Every Place I’ve Ever Lived Is Gone:

 
 
pecan groves outside of Lafayette,
the pine woods north of Spokane,

the field by my house where the snow piled deep,
where a snow owl passed so silently and low

it changed my idea of ghosts—
now they’re stores,

and neighborhoods named after trees,
and spillover parking for a church,

and maybe the choir sings hymns so beautifully
it’s fine; I’ll call it the future, agree that it’s bright.

But west of Washtucna, Washington,
the highway stretches through the dark . . .

miles of no-place, of in-between
that haven’t disappeared.

Freight trucks are too few to bother me much,
and wind off the river cools the hood down.

I can stop on the shoulder and sit there still
while stars fill every inch of night.