by Lee Potts
1) I’m 6 in my attic room at grandmother’s
The silence of heat lightning scared me
but thunderheads were safely full of angels
slinging stones at an army of devils.
Rain was the tears shed as the rout
crossed over and past.
Slippery oak treads shaped like wedges
at the narrow stair’s turning
made it hard to go up in the dark.
In the morning, a stain advanced
across the pristine ceiling above my bed.
2) I’m 12 in the church parking lot after Sunday school
Windshield flyers counting the days
until the Rapture still scared me.
One Will Be TAKEN, And The Other Will Be LEFT
in letters as tall as my thumb
above grey soft-edged photos —
a man in a field looks down
at a pile of clothes, a woman
walks away down a long empty avenue,
an airliner crushed and smoking.
The eyes of the gathered crowd
of witness angels, sketched into the sky
above each scene express a pity
that would have convinced
anyone not taken
to keep each of their
remining hours holy.
3) I’m 17 in the back of a car crossing the Pine Barrens on the way home from the shore
That road held the darkest night
for miles and miles. No car, house,
or streetlight. The rhythm
of its tarred seams put me to sleep
with Sarah’s damp hair
on my shoulder
and there seemed little point to me
in ordering stars into constellations
when each is merely the place an angel,
appearing as an iron needle,
pierced the black dome with a soul
trailing behind like a bit of unknotted thread.
::
Lee Potts is founder and editor-in-chief of Stone Circle Review. A Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee, his work has appeared in The Night Heron Barks, Rust + Moth, Whale Road Review, UCity Review, Firmament, Moist Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. In 2021, his chapbook, And Drought Will Follow, was published by Frosted Fire Press. He lives just outside of Philadelphia with his wife and daughter.
Image: Calwaen Liew
Image description: A dark blue night sky with stars and black mountains.
Psaltery & Lyre 