That we might walk back into each other’s lives
and not feel the pull
of sickness dragging us to this reality
we already knew, that’s all
I truly wanted last spring. The spring before—
morning after morning (More …)
Jordan Durham
Jordan Durham holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Idaho where she was the 2015-16 Centrum Fellow. A finalist for the Grist Pro Forma Contest and Arcadia Dead Bison Editors’ Prize in Poetry, her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Blackbird, Quarterly West, Rattle, Harpur Palate, and Indiana Review, among others. She lives in Columbia, Missouri.</p
Dead Mouse
by Jordan Durham
In wintertime, they came. Swarms, at least
five at a time, out of the fields for the closeness
of our heat. We never saw them until after,
which often took weeks through measured
ways of living, surviving each day’s cold.
It wasn’t until the day we heard one for hours—
squeaking, scurrying, and then glue-stuck, so as not
to be—that we realized we didn’t understand
what was considered a death meant for humanity(More …)