Jennifer L. Knox

Endless Wonders

Today my hand is glad.
Thunderheads, like Zambonis,
scour the barren prairie, but it’s
not really nothing. There’s lichen
and time and the spore-fat shadow
of death. I am red and smiling in ice
for a minute, thanks to a pill. Best
practices: I try and try and try till I
climb out backwards! I yrt till it hurts.
Neighbors’ crutches, stacked best
for burning. Air swooshes up
through the fire, and from it, moths
emerge. Their white wings shaggy
like a bleached football blanket.
I’ll cover the winter window with it.
Thank you. Shave and shave it off.
Musk from an old faithful gland keeps
the candles roaring till they woof.
When will the lighting end?

These Happy Golden Days

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” she said.
“Guh—” I began through my teeth but
she slammed the car door. The neck brace
wouldn’t let me turn my head, so I tracked
her in the rearview till she disappeared
inside the travel plaza. “Teleportation,”
I said to her outline still hanging in the air,
then it fell to the blacktop like a broken
string of beads. I did not look at my phone
or fiddle with the radio. I wanted to be
entirely surrounded by her absence, by
the air of her absence as the car warmed
in the sun. I wanted to think about her
when she was not there to mess it up, to
steal my idea of her and swap it with a
real her. Idea her would never try to kill me,
idea her was always beautiful and kind, real
her was running through the parking lot,
a red-faced man chasing after her, yelling.
But in both the idea and real: her pink
hair whipping in the wind.