Luke Johnson
Sweetheart,
The day before my father died
he dreamed of soot
& said the sky was beautiful.
That birds descended one
by one to pick apart his eyes
& as he hollowed light
erupted scattered in the surf.
When I met him by his bed
I felt the presence of rain
& gripped by fear I fell on my face
pleading to be heard.
By then his eyes had fogged
& mouth gaped
& a crackle like a static signal
lifted from his lips.
I once set fire to a field
at dawn & demanded
when the silo blew God
give me back my life.
I’d lived condemned & thirsty
& longed for what the others had
a home of benediction.
But my mother was not well
& the whispers grew
& the winds who chewed
took whole the redwood holy
in their mouths. Until my hands
began to itch for grace
felt peace in charred suspension.
So I pressed my lips
to taste the swell
& sucked until the smolder stopped
& settled in my skin.
& now I curve my hand
to mirror moving water.
All the stones wombed from fracture
& worn into rhythm.
But first you must break.
& after you break
you must broker fire
the absence of song smear
soot upon your feet.
So riddle me this:
there was a boy above
a wounded bird
while walking on the shore.
The shadow of absence
brooded behind him
& a crater opened.
& the crater could not feel.
It spoke one word
& that word was help.
But when he took his hand
to smother it a thousand
sweetpeas swaddled the air
& sunlight bloomed.
& sunlight said let go.
I’m asking if the bird
was there to bless the need.
Or if the need condemned
the thing behind him
& if what stood there was me?
Luke Johnson poems can be found at Kenyon Review, Narrative Magazine, Florida Review, Frontier, Cortland Review, Nimrod, Thrush and elsewhere. His manuscript in progress was recently named a finalist for the Jake Adam York Prize, The Levis through Four Way Press, The Vassar Miller Award and is forthcoming fall 2023 from Texas Review Press. You can find more of his poetry at lukethepoet.com or connect at Twitter at @Lukesrant.