The 2River View | 23.1 (Fall 2018) |
Erin Carlyle In the mirror of the fire burn backwards until your childhood fresh paint. Your father sat beside from work. Every beer he ever drank you buried came up from the ground— the haunt of your mother cast and waited to see you hide in a cabinet, pulled out of your head put back, we realized that there was something before you and your father and mother fell away This is Post Apocalypse You are tender when you say to me: if I keep it will it make me, bone get this bone appraised—take it to pawn. My will feet move one as it should be, downcast, I’m yours. I will get nothing for I am on a mission to stick I lay down on the asphalt are they yelling my name? I pull you, and I whisper a story— Erin Carlyle is the assistant poetry editor at Mid-American Review and an MFA candidate at Bowling Green State University. Her work has appeared in journals such as Dream Pop Press and Driftwood Press, and she is the author of a chapbook from Dancing Girl Press.
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