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.