GH O TI

f i sh

Issue No. 1

At the Sunny Day Restaurant

I order coffee and watch a fly
dance itself near to death
on the windowsill.
I think of my daughter, dying,
her breath a noisy braiding of air.
That was a day in March.   The nineteenth day.

The sun dissolves behind a cloud.
The fly, magnificent now, sizzles.

Home

Bios