Poetry — October 29, 2012 13:23 — 0 Comments

Vacant Sky, Red Dirt – James Brantingham

I first smelled death
Beneath a vacant Nevada sky.
White feathers flew in the wind,
Freed from the violence of
My father’s hands.
The stew pot waited
On the wood burning stove.
I couldn’t watch the hatchet
Though I heard it hit the block.
Even with my head turned,
I could smell the red life leaving;
I could hear the white wings
Beating frantically
Until the dirt turned crimson,
Until silence settled over
Our small piece of desert.
I was four and I was hungry,
Hungry enough to set aside
The smell of death outside.

Bio:

James Brantingham bucked hay in the Rogue River Valley, worked the pear orchards of Medford, poured concrete in the Colorado mountain towns, framed houses in Colorado Springs and Spokane. Remodeled much of the Pike Place Market and now manages a marine navigation software company. Studied Latin and medieval literature at Gonzaga in Spokane. Published poems, translations and short stories in publications such as Crab Creek Review and ZYZZYVA. Two online magazines, Glossolalia and the one you are currently reading, have published his short fiction and poetry. His Seattle Small Books Company published three short books and will soon release the fourth, “Traveling Light”. Two sons and two grandchildren light his life.

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What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney

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