SIREN
This song is Scheherazade sweet:
take cover immediately. And my husband,
more so future husband, more so storm
chaser follows the wind north when
the beat drops. The emergency radio sings:
there are already two dead a few counties
over and the wind wants more bones,
a sycamore spine white as ivory,
like the one in the front yard humming
spring. I need a song to drown out
the breeze. My hands can’t conduct anything
anymore, can’t herd our black cat
back from the window, can’t convince
the dog into the bathtub, can’t count
4/4 well enough to lay a needle on red
dirt records without shaking like the night
we met. You asked me to hold your pitcher,
I did. I asked you to stay till morning.
You did. Come back out of the wind,
I want to hear the unchained shower
melody you sang me awake with
the next morning. Put the track on
repeat, hide in the darkest room,
in the darkest corner, dig my teeth
into my knees, till the storm ends.
_____________________
John Andrews’ first book, Colin is Changing His Name, is forthcoming from Sibling Rivalry Press in Fall 2017 and was a finalist for the 2015 Moon City Poetry Prize. Other work has previously appeared in Redivider, Assaracus, Burnt District, Pembroke Magazine, and others. Currently, he is a Ph.D. candidate in English at Oklahoma State University where he serves as an Associate Editor for the Cimarron Review.
The Boiler 