ISSN 1551-8086
return to home search for a contributing writer

seach for poems by title

archive of previous issues submissions information mailing list online store links to other interesting sites contact us  
  November 2017
volume 14 number 2
-table of contents-
 
  home  
 
  contributing poets
  Gary Beck
  Jack G. Bowman
  Sir Mark Bruback
  JR Campbell
  Adrian Ernesto Cepeda
  Darren C Demaree
  Amitabh Vikram Dwivedi
  Raymond Fenech
  Gerda Govine Ituarte
  Grant Guy
  Hedy Habra
  Danielle Harper
  JD Hart
  Tom Irish
  Kait Jensen
  Michael Lee Johnson
  Elisabeth Khan
  Ron Lucas
  Suzanne O'Connell
  Scott Thomas Outlar
  E. Martin Pedersen
  John D Robinson
  Miriam Sagan
  Rishan Singh
  Spencer Smith
  Ann Christine Tabaka
  Viola Weinberg
  Cade Williams
  Terry Wolverton
  Bill Yarrow
 
  home
  poets
  poems
  archive
  submissions
  mailing list
  store
  links
  contact
   
Tom Irish
November 2017
   

 

bio


    "I live in Davenport, Iowa with my wife and two kids. I teach English at Sauk Valley Community College in Dixon, Illinois, and write poetry and fiction the rest of the time. I have been published most recently in Mystery Times Ten (2013), Under the Bed, Vine Leaves Literary Journal, and The Best of Vine Leaves Literary Journal (2014)."
trirish@hotmail.com

   

 

You Were Better Blurry

You were better blurry
fuzzed out around your edges by darkness, by
alcohol, by the dancing people surrounding us
you seemed softer when you were blurry
when you were touchy
when you were slurry, and
later, when you died the little death

You were better blurry,
walking beside me through the snow that Christmas afternoon in
the park, chin tucked into your deep collar against the cold
hands invisible inside your pockets, your
corners blunted and your voice dampened by
clumps of soft, numbing flakes, but
you seemed somehow more interesting, more present beside
me, when you were partially obscured

You were better blurry
calling me too early in morning on the day after
cursing and ranting across the new miles between us, and
for the first time I heard you clearly
I was furious that I almost wanted to dance with you again, so
I cut you off mid-sentence, and
then I went alone to the bed we had shared
and died the little death

copyright 2017 Tom Irish