Issue 4 Cover_final_web Poecology

Issue 4

 

 
 

Lawrence Eby

 

Call Home

 
 
Mother,
             I will say one day I’ll count the times

                           I’ve cared on one hand.

             Your pictures will haunt every cabinet in whatever home

I call home. Sheetrock will balance without nails. We’ll visit

the rainwater in the nursing home,

                                        Mother,
                                                    I will say

                           I apologize. A dust storm
                           will caress the bathroom. The walls

                           will fall, floor
                           collapse.

            Your hands have always felt like a prophecy
            drifting me into a lake.