Artwork Credit: Erik Riley
Blessed are the Handfuls
The rain made creekbeds of the coltrane railway tracks, and
wooden sleepers, water to their ears, sit still impossibly parallel.
The mill is gone, but the wind and river
(my unpalatable right, your left) remain.
To whom the earth
if the meek do not want it?
My Right, Your unpalatable Leftovers
despite her maraschino slow-death,
in his sleep her body was a park he liked to stand in.
the warming cottage roof melting footstep-drops
around and round, so that he lay awake, ready
to be pushed away as though tasting like frozen
strawberries she was too tired to want to eat-
as though he city-whistled some defrosted lovesong
while an unrequited distance clothed her like a name.
Tin Can Blues
the heart of a tin can
that never made it
on to that just-married train.
Instead you booked it strait
to some midwestern landfill
with dead lavender in your pockets
and a nice ass.
what a lot of people need is
who isn't going to kiss them-
what I need is a pair
of steel-toed boots.
About the Poet: After a childhood spent in Belgium and Germany, Collin Garrity moved to Asheville, NC to attend Warren Wilson College. He now lives in Savannah Georgia where he works as a woodworker, and spends much of his time writing and admiring art.