Back to Issue Nine.

Farm Boys



I find you swimming, cheeks flushed
like summer squash. Your father’s screams
echo against the riverbed as he drags you
by your earlobe from the sweet lick
of Indiana freshwater. I wish it were Thursday night
again, Molly piercing through your flesh
with a needle from her grandmother’s sewing kit,
with a diamond she stole from her aunt.
Now your ear bleeds, sore and crusty, diamond
popped from its socket like an arrowhead.
Your father ripens, flesh maddened, a husk,
the blood, war paint, water clouding like dusk.

Talin Tahajian grew up near Boston. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in PANK, Hobart, Word Riot, Washington Square Review, and elsewhere. She is a finalist for the 2014 Indiana Review Poetry Prize, and—after contributing—joined the poetry staff of The Adroit Journal. In the fall, she plans to attend the University of Cambridge, where she will study English literature.