One shining moment stirring up a pot of soup on the edge of a precipice. One shining spot on the campus where a hundred students use bullhorns to shoo vultures away from empty tables. One man flush with cash, one man chosen to carry aquariums across the island of Gavutu. Each one mindful of bees buzzing about a bumbling mailman. One powerful sign of January--that crow without forgiveness--is a time capsule short of truth. If not one thing, it’s another. One troublesome hole comes with a cat that plays dumb without teeth, dumber with teeth. Reliable as ever, one sailfish weaves a new beach. At many churches, one brain cell at a time waiting to die, one sweep the broom has turned to dust. One and not done: the only one that makes sense, the only one not to.
Cliff Saunders is the author of several poetry chapbooks, including Mapping the Asphalt Meadows (Slipstream Publications) and This Candescent World (Runaway Spoon Press). His poems have appeared recently in The Midwest Quarterly, Book of Matches, Stone Poetry Quarterly, Monterey Poetry Review, New Feathers Anthology, and The Flatbush Review.
