Lindsay Wilson


You did not need an invitation
to appear on the sidewalk at dusk,

so I took you out of my loss

and crushed you with the thistles
from the burned field to spread
across the doorways of my house.

Now, afraid to leave, I wander
the rooms and ask the mirrors
if they too own a memory
of reflecting you.
++++++++++++++++They, like you,
stay silent.
+++++++++++When the thunder speaks,
I open the windows to the hot house
and notice,
+++++++++++for the first time,

how the backlit Sierras look
like a jagged cardiac line
pulsing against the horizon
before flatlining into the Great Basin,

and there you are again, outside
looking in, hand pressed to the screen

as the wind and rain pass through
a body that isn’t there.

Lindsay Wilson

is an English professor at Truckee Meadows Community College and edits the literary magazine The Meadow. His fifth chapbook, Black-Footed Country, will be released in the summer of 2014, and his poetry has appeared in The Minnesota Review, Verse Daily, The Portland Review, Salamander, and The South Dakota Review, among other journals.