After revealing his identity with full details and a photograph, this poet requested me to publish his poems anonymously since he is on to a research by publishing his poems anonymously in various magazines throughout the year. I obliged. - EDITOR


Alaska Is...

Chroma-color rising against forget-me-nots
seagulls on a field of purple
fireweed buds scattered across
the canopied sky, toward the face
of The Sleeping Lady.

While

A grizzly hand-fishes for trout,
square yellow paws slapping
the Kenai,
sounds scattering reindeer
far and wide.


Circling Back

The crows explode off the roof of the bank
in tight formation
I put our Toyota in park and wait
on the corner of Grove for you.
My knuckles start again, so I rub.
Every evening, same time, they walk
high boots clomping, eager to get home
I still wait.
For your message.
For your hi love.
For your story of your day.

The crows expand and swoop,
circling back so pretty, so dark
finally landing on that precarious wire.
One crow
with a strange patch of red
flies off to who knows where
her outline fading against the darkening
sky and I see it
a mate turning his head
wondering where and when she’ll
come back.

We both know the answer.
I unpark and drive myself home.



Waiting for the White

They say you can’t fall off the edge of the world, but
when you see blue north, blue south, blue west, blue east,
how would you know?

I give up at the sight of the North Star, so bright above me
lie down in my kajáhkka and wait for the crack
that never comes.

But the slapping of waves against my boat escalates, until
it’s so loud and violent my bowels loose, and my stomach.
Splashing water in and out of the boat, I see it,
and head for my plotof ground at the top of the world.
My potter’s field in white, where I wait

for the beast.


For L.

That fine hand, propping up your crane neck, delicately off-side, grazing a copper curl.
Those boundless closed lids, envoys of your soul, show a bottomless well of civility and
grace above a strong nose and gentle lips that both
beckon and retreat.


4:19 PM, August 11, 2009

I.

Gary unloads wheat from the second bottom
dump trailer of his truck--
manually opened at the side.
He hears his 13-year-old
son yelling immediately
closes the bottom.
He runs to the
top of the trailer.
Gary Jr. engulfed
in funnel-
shaped
grains
only
his
ha
nd
v
i
s
i
b
l
e
.
.
.His body
finally freed
from the grains through the bottom.

II.

Gary Jr. had to go inside, slipped and the auger sucked him down into the grains
he was chest high.

Emergency crews responded to the Thurstin farm around noon
His mother: “it took about two and a half hours to free Gary Jr.”

*Mercy Medical Center – North Iowa*

“There were concerns about possible pressure injuries. Tests came back fine.
Mr. Thurstin was sent home.” A minor knee injury.