Wednesday, February 13, 2019

Dwelling Place by Jim Bourey

Today I visited the old
neighborhood. Most of the time
it’s a place I avoid;
it is darkness,
it is empty
it is shadowy
and full of regrets.

And really, who wants to drag all that out
again? Now we want reassurance
and inspiration and happy memories -
the good stuff.

We don’t need to be reminded
how close we were to falling
off the edge, how we screamed
while little ones looked on,
how backs were turned,
how speeding away
was sweet punishment.

The road to rebuilding was there,
I suppose, though hard to find then,
and still just as elusive.

Jim Bourey is an old poet who lives on the northern edge of the Adirondack Mountains. His chapbook “Silence, Interrupted” was published in 2015 by the Broadkill River Press. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Stillwater Review, Gargoyle, Broadkill Review, Rye Whiskey Review and other journals and anthologies. He was first runner up in the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Competition in 2012 and 2016. He can usually be found reading aloud in dimly lit rooms.

1 comment:

That Time Robert Priest Farted At a Reading and Everyone Knew It by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

It was after this reading at this little red school house out in the middle of nowhere and at the conclusion of the reading everyone went...