Barely a Leaf Unstilled
I’ve learned to pinch an orange
from the tree with barely a leaf unstilled,
learned to stop saying to anyone
who’d listen that I would have
stayed with you until the end. And still
the pith: it haunts me, bitter
white in the between spaces, in my
waking dreams with eyes open wide but
the world all dimmed, dark cloak scored by that
absence of color that will not let go.
Breath of wind, stir those leaves while
I pace the dirt roads, cleave open
the flowers before I arrive.
Both of Us Standing
at the edge of the sea,
the edge and something more.
Wild, those wildflowers
turned away from the wind. Your fingers
too cold to find mine. There was always
something missing too quiet to say.
Let’s see the dark matter
for what it is. Bury the light deep in
our hearts where we can use it
later. After.
The pelicans are pushing north, wings wide above
the wind that moves us.
We hide our faces while they ride.
Jad Josey’s work has appeared in CutBank, Glimmer Train, Ninth Letter, Passages North, and elsewhere. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fictions and his story, “It Finally Happened,” was selected for inclusion in the Best Microfiction 2021 anthology. Read more at www.jadjosey.com, or reach out on Twitter @jadjosey.
Header photo by sondem, courtesy Shutterstock.
