A journal of narrative writing.
To the Summer Poets Conferencing the Ski Resort

Listen to “To the Summer Poets Conferencing the Ski Resort”
read by Gabriel Arquilevich

Can’t you see I’ve done what you do? I’ve used the ampersand, though it looks like a statue, and the golden words—susurrus, laconic, and pluvial—too? Icarus has fallen in my bedroom, diving into the wreck! I see you there, through the diamond spaces of the fence, swirling wines I don’t know, thanking each other for the blurbs. You laugh, drunk and in wonderment at the waltzing aspens, shoes almost touching. Guests shoulder the welcome semicircle of your verse, following you now to the conference hall before dinner and tonight’s reading, eyes on the ugly one published everywhere that matters, but without a book. He looks so much like Beethoven I’m convinced his grimacing work is good, better than mine will ever be. He will teach maybe three classes at a small school in Kansas though no one can say what he really means. My shoulder bag fails and there they go, free to decompose in the Rockies. Or not: maybe a poem, this poem, will lift above the aspens. Maybe there will be a goat. He will chew on it. He will spit it out.