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issue 9: RAIN OR SHINE

day's end

JEREMY RADIN
These days I work
the garden—pulling
up the old, turning
the soil for the new.
This keeps my ghost
in prosperity—a bright
exhaustion; bright yet
unsensational. Parsley
& tomatoes & peppers
to inquire into the silence
that inquires into me.
I imagine I’ll love people
again, eventually. But not
today—& not up close.
I’m learning how time,
its blank shimmer, plays
across my absence which
is not quite absence, not
anymore—it’s greener
than absence, closer to
ritual, a strategy against
the debasements. Ignored
by the goldfinch, I hum
to the dirt, requiring no
crumb of compensation.
Sunlight buries its body
in earth, compost sets
forth its gift of rotting,
from this rotting blooms
my emptiness. Nothing
to be but silent here, amid
the thirsty miracles. Why
continue making such
noise—no matter what
I say I’m saying hold me.

Jeremy Radin is a poet, actor, playwright, teacher, and extremely amateur gardener. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Ploughshares, The Colorado Review, Crazyhorse, Gulf Coast, The Journal, and elsewhere. He is the author of two collections of poetry: Slow Dance with Sasquatch (Write Bloody Publishing, 2012) and Dear Sal (not a cult press, 2017). He was born and lives in Los Angeles where he earned his MFA in Eating Large Sandwiches at Brent’s Delicatessen. Follow him @germyradin.
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header photo: forrest cavale (unsplash)

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