Now that I’m older I understand the
car incident. Repetitive pastures
kicking legs back to keep a fine barrel.
And we crossed a hundred gun stores that night.
Petty decade in which I swap my home
each year and you come on and off the meth—
story too late for Seventeen Magazine
5 Washington Avenue, broken key.
Indifferent as an encyclopedia,
caulking the windows humid cake of brown.
Keep me here through the evening, lock and key
of St. Louis, storyboard of weakened bones. I’m
shaving in the sink of my mother’s RV
planning a recourse to your new dry body.
Seth Graves is Associate Editor of Coldfront Magazine. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in H_NGM_N; Barrow Street; No, Dear; La Fovea; VAYAVYA; and elsewhere. He was educated at the University of Missouri (MA Journalism) and The New School (MFA Poetry). He teaches at Pace University and the New York City College of Technology and lives in Harlem.