Down past the moonlit bell tower
Down past the road that ends at a mountain
I come to know my body
prepared to lose everything
Father if I wore your blue suit to your funeral
I don’t remember
I met strange women with dark hair
sucking the roots of a sugar maple
I had strange ideas and nude irises
drowning in the milk of a star that I nudged
my mouth dark with dirt
my small ruby
held in the heart of a hornet’s nest
am I someone you’d choose to know?
Christopher Prewitt’s a writer from southeastern Kentucky. His writing has been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize, and has appeared in Four Way Review, theNewerYork, Ghost Ocean Magazine, Vinyl, The Iowa Review, and Rattle, among others.