PoetryIssue 17 | March 2013

Two poems by Dalton Day

what I saw there

a barn with
a small tornado, spinning backwards
first thing in the morning

a bathtub filled with warm water

a porch with daffodils
growing through the cracks

twenty-four rooms,
upon each of their windowsills
sit
a piece
of the moon

skies upon skies
with little
birds, always returning

a jar of the ocean
a jar of honey

a field,
sometimes gold
sometimes lavender, built
to catch the stars when they fall

airplanes made of paper

a brown piano
with a beehive inside

all of the tree stumps
swallowing the
sunlight
so that they can burn the nights
with song

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About the author

Dalton Day is from North Carolina, and always has been. He has hopped over many creek beds, cut his way through many thorn bushes, and stumbled through many fields of moonlight. He has never ridden in an airplane before, but he’s watched many birds, with fingers outstretched. Even though he can’t play the banjo, he wishes he could. You can find his work in Nib Magazine and Used Furniture Review. Visit his website.

Read our current issue:

Poetry

Two poems by Anne Babson
Vignette, Townhouse, 9 a.m. by Troy Cunio
Night Becomes Day Over the West by Megan Foley
Yukon River Aurora by D. B. Goman
Two Poems by David Havird
Cretan Love Letter by Emily Linstrom
Holland by Rick Mullin
Fear in Kenya by Kristina Pfleegor
The Lounge Lizard by Ed Shacklee
Two Poems by Sarah J. Sloat
Night Flight by Vicki Stannard
Koinonia Farms by Alina Stefanescu
Thessaloniki, Four a.m. by Anastasia Vassos
Imaginary Oceans by Jason Warren
Two Poems by F. J. Williams

Postcard prose

It’s Salty by Kelly Hill

Travel notes

Anchorage in the Great Land by Karen Benning
The Value of Small Money by Megan Hallinan
Screensaver by Sandra Larson
Thirty Cents by Tommy McAree
Gokarna by Kate McCahill
Going Places by Rachel Miller-Howard
Susanville CA: Notes From The Road by Susan Volchok