My father’s body has ceased to shock me
It’s all wrong, today’s sun, / a welt in the fire-smoke sky.
The river has its own concerns. It loves / the human form the way fury / loves a stone.
The need to catch up on sleep. An ache to sleep on clean sheets. The prospect of waking up dry.
Saleem Hue Penny reads his prize-wining poem, “Never the Less” from BLR Issue 40.
To see how the snow blanketed the trees / along Taughannock Creek Road, I turned off / Route 96 this morning.
In the darkened room, vision dims. /
The doctor leans close, looks eye to eye; / his light invades my pupil’s rim.
Within the body—
Some of y’all pray to God/
I pray to the yellow warblers/
and their frail whistling