Search

Men Thank God For Tears by Michael Rather

Vachel Lindsay


When Kate and Ro swing foam swords over head

and Rhys rides his bike with feet lifted from the cement

and the gray cirrus strips begin to fray in our sky

and the sun once again becomes pronounced

and the ants are all there surrounding my tea cup

and I hear the engines of the trucks in the parking lot

behind our home and notice that each bolt

of the carport is my hair color and the very air

is light and thin, when the bubble stays in my throat

and I could never wish for silence

and the high flung plane is visible over the houses

and the boys go back to their own fight

and their mother returns to her raking

and alone I sit in the blue plastic chair,

my heart falls in my chest and I remember

a creek’s sound on a sanding bank

and the dog’s little bones scattered

from the scavenging


 

M. Rather, Jr. (Dr. Michael Rather, Jr.) is a poet, teacher, and practitioner of Historical European Martial Arts. His work has appeared in West Texas Review, Subterranean Blue Poetry, Star 82 Review, Borderlands, and Concho River Review.

242 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

mixed media on paper, 2019, 11x14 inches It's the in-between moment of two stages, before and after makeup. The moment that we don't care what we look like and have the highest attention to what we do

Your anger is a mangy thing Perched upon a gnarled branch. It is A bird, cawing a funeral dirge, Pecking at corpses whilst imagining that The dead are at peace. It sings Hymns in praise of slaughter,

I imagine my body as a dahlia: Core of carefully folded petals, tender explosion outward, layer upon layer, pink, straight stem shooting up toward the food of the sun. But my dahlias hardly withstood