—for JH

Zachary Lundgren

He told us he would write a poem about a rooster
found bloodied all broken, half-
dead on his freshly painted front porch.

Instead, he used the rest of his life writing about the rain
in all its sad,
pornographic history.

The day your father dies, he told me, it just stays so damn
hot outside. Mosquitos in the grass
with climbing allamanda vine, they try to waltz.

together. When the grass and allamanda vine so overgrow
my heart, one day I may not remember the rooster
or the rain.

We were made as hunters, but what is this quarry
we’re after? Language and dusk, altars to crucify and then learn
to worship even the smallest of our baby teeth

Zachary Lundgren received his MFA in poetry from the University of South Florida and his PhD from East Carolina University. Recently, his first full book of poetry, Turkey Vulture, was published by Meadowlark Press. He has also been published in several literary magazines and reviews, including The Columbia Review, The Wisconsin Review, Clockhouse, Beecher’s Magazine, and The Louisville Review.