• Going

    Edgar Kunz

    Winter 2017

    Alone now in Oakland. Thin cloud rusting
    over Temescal, garlic simmering

    in the pan, lavender potted and long dead
    in the breezeway. I start the water,

    carry the milk crates in from the garage.
    You with your mother in Los Angeles.

    The lanterns we scavenged and hung
    at the ceremony now a soft racket

    in the magnolia. Me turning an old
    summer over, the one where we slept

    most nights in a park in Hartford,
    bedded down in the soaked grass.

    The local kids coming always after dark
    to tag the pumphouse, sling rocks

    at the heron cages. Their bright,
    startled cries and us burrowing deeper

    in our bags. I start unshelving
    my books, fitting them side-by-side

    in a crate.

    Edgar Kunz is a Wallace Stegner Fellow at Stanford University. His poems appear in AGNI, Narrative, New England Review, Gulf Coast, and other places.

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