Prose
Sand
My jacket was hot from the sun when I put it on, covering the shoulders that drive one man crazy, and I forgot what I remembered to forget last time, hope it doesn't matter. I'll never know what you forget to remember, so I remind you of the moments I can't let die. You bring yours to the party: plaid shorts, a black lace bra, dancing behind me at the Soul Bar, makeout sessions in so many cars. Chick-fil-A will always be special, marked as ours. The train and the shotgun, the hayride and the fair. Why did we fight everything so hard? When did we learn how not to be enemies?
By Harper Lewis 7 months ago in Poets
Elegy for a Country Once at Peace
There was a morning, once, when we rose unafraid, when dawn came like a friend who knocks at the door, certain of its welcome. We opened our eyes to a country still whole, to the people who had learned, by long and faithful labor, how to live beside each other in the ordinary grace of the uneventful day. Oh, what were we then, who did not know how rare a thing it is to dread so little? The newspaper passed beneath the elm in autumn, and its news was only news, only the slow procession of the known and mild. We received it calmly, the way a still pond receives the rain and settles back to calm.
By Tim Carmichael7 months ago in Poets
