In the Arms of His Late Love
She buried him to the neck,
a mouth full of dirt, tarred and steam-
rolled asphalt around him. Sat down
sweating from her work to a dish
of pickled sweet breads and chili
basil. He sang a muffled
song: If you were as lonely as the moon
I would gather like the stars around you.
She laughed. He was a funny man.
The wind in the leaves was
like rain; the trees were streaked
with soot. Her mind wondered.
His hammertoe itched.
Adam Day is the author of A Model of City in Civil War (Sarabande Books), and is the recipient of a PSA Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a PEN Emerging Writers Award. His work has appeared in the Boston Review, Lana Turner, APR, Poetry London, AGNI, The Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He coordinates The Baltic Writing Residency in Sweden, Scotland, and Blackacre State Nature Preserve.