Back to Issue Forty-Seven

Mortal beings



Tumbleweed heart.
Rowdy and mean
the way I like my men.
Riding horseback,
his entire family
behind him.

Today a child was saved
by a group of firemen
from a grocery store
shopping cart.
He was stuck
there for two hours.

He never cried
except for when
They freed him.

For two decades
I’ve lived without touch.
Carrying stones
in my pocket
waiting for some kind
of miracle.

It’s on nights like this
where I notice
hints of color
infinite stars.

Orion’s Belt—a dare
to fuck a god.

Post-powwow snag
with an Eastern war dancer.
His name, something
like a bird breaking
through water.

Carrying his kill

Devour—What a beautiful
somehow it reminds
me of love.

Victor Beck is a Diné poet and writer from Arizona. He currently lives in Providence, Rhode Island. He feels at home in the ocean because it reminds him of the desert—vast, aloof, and majestical.

Next (Grace Wang) >

< Previous (Fiker Girma)