Poem by Ilari Pass : “Air, Interrupted”

Air, Interrupted (first published in Kissing Dynamite)

My son practices somersaults on the lawn
beneath our feet the yellow stars' glimmer
lights the way. The sun still shines, though
it glistens just out of reach. For those damn dandelions
unfurl; its hunger is another color.

Fists give births to cells
Red-spiked, protruding polka-dots
Rose out of them as if there were candles
That is surprising us
They illuminate nothing

to an invitation. I watched him
expel from one strut to the next, cartwheeling
ungainly to crump on the earth.  His tired
ears fell off at the sound of my voice
and we picked them up because our hands
were full of a thousand poems
that neither one of us knew how to read.


Bio: Ilari Pass holds a BA in English from Guilford College of Greensboro, NC, and an MA in English, with a concentration in literature, from Gardner-Webb University of Boiling Springs, NC. Her work appears or forthcoming in Rat's Ass Review, As It Ought To Be, Rigorous, Unlikely Stories, Paterson Literary Review, Triggerfish Critical Review, Common Ground Review, JuxtaProse, Drunk Monkeys, Sledgehammer Lit, The Daily Drunk, Rejection Letters, Free State Review, The American Journal of Poetry, and others.