to be father of our first child
on Wednesday
a child in the checkout lane
reaches up and takes
my hand
*
Can’t work out because I’m paralyzed
still worried what I look
like doubled chinned sealion
because of the steroids
*
What if the woodpecker
jackhammering my
eaves doesn’t this morning
erupt in the quiet gravel
grind of white noise
softening morning nap
for Omi and I begin to miss
my nemesis
*
With childhood friends we
everlastingly are
children
fragile floor lamps
easily toppled
chided upset Formulating emails
in the long hollow silence
hallways of years
yesteryears immortal pets
the Siamese cat
buried in a bed of lilies
the cocker spaniel
sprinkled wind in your eyes
Ethan’s Angels.
Death rebirthwhere skull equals
opportunity
equals angel
infected cranium
hacksawed
chopped melon
he tilts into
view
the hacked back
of his head
*
NO TRESPASSING
sign tucked
into the trunk’s
incision
Union Pacific Railroad
*
Death rebirth portal
interstitial woods
tracks among neighborhoods
where I meet my father
an acquaintance
who forgot my name
where I introduce
an acquaintance to my son
for the first time
*
Feed the dreams
in your heart, Ethan says
the flames unlock
stored potential.
When my father
denies me I am not
forsaken I am for the sake of
Cameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of six collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is Far Other (Woodley Press, 2020). He holds and MFA from the University of Kansas City—Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and two children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.
