Patrick Carrington and Donna Moss

A Different Day’s Light
Patrick Carrington

I have soaked you in and I hold you,
like the wood of an old house
holds its carpenter’s sweat.
You built me

in the shadows of a different
day’s light, stained my
deepest grain. But I no longer feel
the work of your hands. Forgive

me for forgetting
the joinings,
the glue and pressing of thumbs,

for allowing your craft to rot
like salty wreckage spit
from a sea. I can’t find you

in me even as I creak, even
as I leak from windows
watching days I can’t unsee.


Signs and Messages
by Donna Moss

I’m hiding in the closet at my parents’ house. Crouched beneath my hanging pants and beside an open suitcase. There’s banging on the front door. (more)