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gut grief

Andrew Gillis there’s an older man, i know, who sleeps among this thicket with a face like mine, eyes like mine, corporeal form curled behind the curtain of shadow at the heart of spiderweb oak. i have seen the night turn over in its sleep, a wide black, no forgiving star to cut the even dark of canopy apart, and i wonder if this will be when i find his grave and finally clear the path between us, upturn the sick of scripture i spoke to him in tongues but swallowed back, hid, in the tar of my own throat. i am no man carved from the shadow of his frame, yet still, i wonder, if.

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Profile for Apeiron Review

Apeiron Review | Issue 15  

Poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and photography originally published in winter 2019

Apeiron Review | Issue 15  

Poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and photography originally published in winter 2019