Water Damage
BY KEVIN MCLELLAN
not quite a block away from yours
you notice
the boarded-up house as you navigate
ice / the fire and the young woman
went up
/ that same early morning you woke
just after the image / a woman in
a nightgown
clutching an ice pick / but now you
carry garlic / shallots / salmon in
a brown paper bag
in sleet / the gap between want and
need narrows / her neighbors in sleet
tote cardboard
boxes to a U-Haul / to the ashen road
/ the rattle of dishes / your sheltered
question
Inside Out
BY KEVIN MCLELLAN
memory-fatigue / but you’re too
impatient to gather / bury / wait
/ wait even longer / exhume and
bleed the lesser toxic gingko seeds /
their human-like sick stink sickens
you / so you ingest onions and garlic
instead / in awe of anything under-
ground you find root and salt cellars
reassuring / also cemetery grounds /
but their churches have an inverse
effect / the image of them will return
/ return to you ablaze in the middle
of the night / and you will be helpless
outside / afar / unable to reach any
of the icons inside / why you must
continue to find faith in mirrors
