Rays burrowing in sand
like hearing someone typing
an endless suicide note
in a room at the end
of a carpeted hall, we go on
believing that nothing
can touch us here,
though loss is like
wearing a blouse made
of a thousand needles,
remembering the weight
of the phone in your hand
when the call came in,
the body a snowshoe hare
curled like a closed hand.
Adam Day is the author of Left-Handed Wolf (LSU Press, 2020) and of Model of a City in Civil War (Sarabande Books), and the recipient of a Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a PEN Award. His work has appeared in the APR, Boston Review, The Progressive, Fence, Kenyon Review, Iowa Review, and elsewhere. He is the publisher of Action, Spectacle.
