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Child Poetica

For the Son I Never Had

The way you say “air conditioner” slays me
and when you’re older, the way you cut the wheel
PUT_CHARACTERS_HEREEEEEEto make a corner.

Why shouldn’t we talk about what never was?
Not because of a lack of love, but because of
something more opaque the color of a grey sky
in winter, how it bleeds into the ocean and at
some point they touch like the two unreal
PUT_CHARACTERS_HEREEentities they are.

I’ve spent my life inside a nice, calm man; you are
endlessly elegy and as I watch you run into the world
like a plow into a snow bank, I can’t help
but thank your mother for your blade.

When I get home, I will read this poem
over and over again to watch you rise
off the page like some mythical beast
all my flaws sewn into your chest.

 

Jefferson Navicky

Jefferson Navicky is the author of Antique Densities, a book of modern parables, as well as the poetic novel The Book of Transparencies, and the story collection The Paper Coast. His work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, Electric Literature, Beloit Poetry Journal, Tarpaulin Sky, and Fairy Tale Review. He is the archivist for the Maine Women Writers Collection and lives on the coast of Maine.

About

Jefferson Navicky is the author of Antique Densities, a book of modern parables, as well as the poetic novel The Book of Transparencies, and the story collection The Paper Coast. His work has been published in SmokeLong Quarterly, Electric Literature, Beloit Poetry Journal, Tarpaulin Sky, and Fairy Tale Review. He is the archivist for the Maine Women Writers Collection and lives on the coast of Maine.