NIGHT SKYE M.a.g.a.z.i.n.e
|
Night Pages
Whenever we write we describe ourselves.
- Stephen Dobyns
When I was young
I burned to write.
I wrote my father
up from the dead.
Dark doors slammed,
my pencil sobbed.
I wrote for god
and the hood
and the Nothing hunched
in my heart. I wrote
that little song of shame
you sing to stay the dark.
Love circled the house
but how could I hear
in that roar of words?
I wrote. I died.
My pages swirled away
and stuck
in the dirty trees.
Tell them in heaven
it wasn't right. Tell them
in hell, I never said no,
at night.
first appeared in
The Salt River Review Volume 4, Number 3, Fall, 2001
Jed Allen holds an MFA in Writing from Vermont College.
He teaches English and directs the Creative Writing Program
at Phoenix College. His interests are in collaborative projects
in poetry, the visual arts, and music.
