1. BLIZZARD AT BEAR’S PAW BASE CAMP
I pile rocks on her
to
hold her down
tight
as chimney smoke,
cattle
who huddle against season
slaughter
takes the weakest link
like
gravity shrugging chains
cold
air sings below her belly
she
bloats, begins to rise
ragged
kiss of white
savage
tongues of winter
she
humps mountain’s top,
faithless,
she craves the sea
ARK
A
skeleton
hanging
from
a sycamore
tree
in
my back yard
each
time
I
look for it
I
see
It
turns gentle
on
tiny
breeze
sun,
season
greys
the bone
no
one
else
can see
I
know
it
comes for me
it
is a vessel
ship
on a sea
it
bides its time
like
a bride for me
when
the moon ripens
I
must climb inside
to
rule or ruin
I
will ride.
CATCH MY BREATH
Lies buried six feet
locked
in dead lungs
in
prairie graves
should
you die
on
the plains
truth
or lie on lips
wind
will not touch you
gives
no voice to claims
of
poor or rich
no
word of escape
between
centre and surface
behind dirt’s door
4. THE MAN WHO WASHED OFF HIS CLOWN
“It is my dream”
he
said,
his
tailfeathers drooping
“Room
for an ironing board,
a
Murphy bed,
a
window to see the snow”
“There
will be space enough
to
bake an apple pie,
but
not enough to eat it.”
He
was only sad
when
he put
the
make-up on.
Steve Sibra is from the tiny town of Big Sandy, Montana
(current population around 600). The isolation and agrarian nature of his
early life have contributed significantly to his writing. Recent
publications include Chiron Review, ONE Art, and Flint Hills Review.
Steve's book of poetry, SHOES FOR BABY, is forthcoming from Swallow
Publishing. He resides in Seattle with his wife Stacey. Steve is
known internationally for his expertise in the field of vintage American comic
books.
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