Seth Copeland

Afternoon(alone the smell you left in the room of cream fruits and rusted pinks swathes me and gauzes me in obeisance to you Because Wind is Youth Another day, another forty dollars we spend for a token of fun, a bag of nugget green sugared, acrid like gasoline, a scenic drive, warm scent of air, bitter early spring balm glissading over the windshield, peeking through vent dust and conditioned cool, an empty spot, a hollow cobblestone househusk, tucked in cedar at the foot of those melon granite hills folks here call mountains. Insensitive, Oklahoma wind seeks itself a partner, groping hands through the empty doorway and two windows. The healthy wild sunflowers offer up pheromones with the warm wind. An itch of seasonal shift questions my throat and my cough sends pot from pipe in your hand to the air. God laughs. We stare at each other and then I sit myself down at the doorway while you turn to the window, arms crucifix open, staring out. I watch, nothing to say. Outside, the henbit sits at attention, the blue of the atmosphere keeps us humble and the boulders freeze docile in prehistoric descent. Whoever lived here, that old ghost of rumor, genealogy and circumstance, they did not foresee these times, but they are gone and this full, fragrant emptiness belongs to us now. Moderne: Poem Search A D I D K D L O V E J D W O L S D R S X M N L D P d H S O X J B W J N D O A Z T X A E W O J S K D L D S U L Y R S P D Q A O D J L H I S E O C N C O S T F I D O P Q M K R W I D J I F E F Y L G L D O D I J H S I S H W P D J S W J Y I D S O L K X H Y U H S W A L P D Q F G H U I D O I A D F D D K L Q A T H I N G

Seth Copeland is an English graduate of Cameron University with pieces published in e-ratio, Crosstimbers and Symmetry Pebbles.