Nowhere ‘Til April
In my desk is a picture of a jungle from somewhere
warm and green that a friend once sent me, said I could go there
live in his family’s abandoned farm any time I’d like
there’s no plumbing or electricity there and sometimes snakes
make getting to the front door difficult, but here is a picture
and I can stay there.
I can feel the edges of the green photograph in my pocket
when I walk the dog in the winter, when I wait for her to take a crap
hovering in apparent agony over the ankle-deep snow. I can go there
any time I’d like, and there would be snakes but it would be warm.
The Thing That Blocks the Sun
How huge the world must seem to a tiny bug. How huge my hands must seem
When they reach down to cover the tiny bug, blot out the sun entirely
Wrench it from the pavement and lift it to the sky.
Or perhaps the size difference is so great that it doesn’t even register
As something happening, much as the way I can’t feel the world turning beneath my feet
Or hurtling through space, or the heaving of coastal plates as they slowly crash
Against one another. Perhaps this little insect doesn’t notice me at all
Thinks that every time I cover it with my palms, it’s just the sun setting out of place
Some cosmic aberration beyond its control
Not worth worrying about.
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Holly Day’s poetry has appeared in Asimov’s Science Fiction, Grain, and Harvard Review. Her poetry collections include Where We Went Wrong (Clare Songbirds Publishing), Into the Cracks (Golden Antelope Press), Cross Referencing a Book of Summer (Silver Bow Publishing), and The Tooth is the Largest Organ in the Human Body (Anaphora Literary Press).
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