Daylight

Forgetting another dream—
Had I crawled onto your porch as a long-haired Chihuahua
Did your mom say I remember you Brendan
You were ok

Am I ok now, as when
If we concentrated—still life on Central Ave. with Slurpee
And flowering dogwood—our dreams would still connect
Would we call it connection still


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11-42

 

At home we share names
Not so much in the dark, when we look for the switch around every corner—
Genealogy has leaves
The mountains looked forward to being Roanoke—
I took years to recognize the edges of the branches as your hands
Palms out, with fingers—
You said, We're 99% done knowing each other
Wrap that blanket around you sometime


###

Weltfreude

A hundred miles from Chicago the sky is orange at night
I remember listening to Esham under a tree
At Division, or I guess Division's Catholic annex

A thing can be more distinct without remembering, a photo from Mars
We strain to feel as distant, as not the world—
Sometimes when I can't sleep
I still imagine that light outside my window
Thinking if they fixed it, how bright is it


###

Brendan Sherry lives in Greeneville, TN. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, New South, Guesthouse, Birdfeast and elsewhere.