Thinking of David S. Buckel, 4 AM

by Miranda Dennis Issue: Spring 2019
Wind sounds like places far away and desolate
home is a sauna    the man in Prospect Park
set himself on fire  too soon too soon
what rain carries away now  the tornado
blisters a Carolina  so sets the tone for this
season   of puddles rising up carrying
the eyeless wriggling    terraformation
to dance along the asteroid belt
the man in Prospect Park brings
me down to earth  again and again
if this is my body   I am nothing
without river and clay   if this
here body is my own  then I am a home
within a home   I am nothing without
silt and petrichor   gardens sweating
sheen of color like oil off water
the dancing bees in love   and the man
turned meteorite   the man turned to song


Miranda Dennis

Miranda Dennis studied at Hollins University and the University of Massachusetts-Amherst’s MFA Program for Poets and Writers. Her poetry has previously been published in Meridian, storySouth, and Jellyfish magazine, with essays appearing in Quail Bell Magazine and Granta online. She works in digital advertising in Manhattan and goes home nightly to the vibrant borough of Queens, where she lives with a fat cat and the rumble of planes landing overhead.