Viceroy
Sunday at the park, I read poetry on my phone
linked from QR codes along the walkway,
local artists trying to pull art up from the concrete
and out of the Bermuda grass. Not that that’s all
there is—a hill, too, and a man-made marsh,
an unkempt amphitheater for the show of still water.
I am most compelled by the butterflies.
A monarch, I recognize, but no others. There are
smaller orange ones, tiny yellow ones, black and blue
ones on red flowers, which I relate to for some unnamable
reason I think my friends would understand.
I read another poem, realize in every one
the poet conceives nature as something which beckons.
I am beckoned off the main path, into the dirt,
by a tall metal structure that “at once evokes
a grove of trees as well as the flowing bend
of the Tennessee river.” The label says: “We invite you
to come”— but a man is asleep in his lover’s lap
on the camouflaged bench melded to the brass,
and I stop before they see me.
She pets his hair in the shade.
I stick to the concrete path and find
a lesbian couple in the field on a picnic,
one woman fastening a necklace around
her lover’s neck, steady and smiling.
They sit, facing each other, under
the shade of a fully green maple tree.
It bothers me how literal the art is, here.
A bronze statue of a maple leaf.
A brass model of a tree grove.
But I think the issue here is me,
who searches for the thing beneath
the thing, flies circles around myself.
Life at the End of the Holocene
after Kailah Figueroa
“The marriage between dreams and nightmares—that is life.”
-Everlyn Nicodemus
I.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods no one saw coming / the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured itall on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths blowing / seeds across fertile ground / the mangled meadow of my best friend’s backyard
II.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods
no one saw coming / the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when
we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches
and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured it
all on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to
being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then
destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end
of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures
drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and
bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths
blowing / seeds across fertile ground / the mangled meadow of my best friend‘s backyard
III.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods
no one saw coming / the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when
we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches
and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured it
all on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to
being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then
destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end
of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures
drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and
bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths
blowing / seeds across fertile ground / in the mangled meadow of my best friend’s backyard
IV.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods
no one saw coming / the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when
we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches
and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured it
all on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to
being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then
destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end
of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures
drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and
bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths
blowing / seeds across fertile ground / the mangled meadow of my best friend’s backyard
V.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods
no one saw coming / the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when
we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches
and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured it
all on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to
being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then
destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end
of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures
drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and
bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths
blowing / seeds across fertile ground / the mangled meadow of my best friend’s backyard
VI.
red soil running / electricity in the water / immaterial snakes / after the hurricane, the floods
no one saw coming /the front porch thrown board by board / into rapids / remember when
we rocked / in the rocking chairs your grandmother gave you / we bought fresh peaches
and basil from the farmer’s market in the town square / blended them together / poured it
all on ice / sat on that porch and watched the robins hop around? / we both admitted to
being surprised the other was still there / how we’d been so naive / so disloyal and then
destroyed / but stayed through the wreckage and whatever came next / predicted the end
of the world / 8 years ahead / and we were right but there are many ends / many creatures
drowning in the hills of Appalachia / even more dreaming of dandelions / by the new and
bloated riverbed / I am trying to be brave / I do not know my end / maybe my last breaths
blowing / seeds across fertile ground / the mangled meadow of my best friend‘s backyard
Logan Elizabeth Craig (she/they) is a poet currently residing in Chattanooga, TN. Her poems are published in several print and online publications, including elsewhere, Frozen Sea, OROBORO, underscore_magazine, Anodyne Magazine, and others. Their work can be found at their linktree, and on Instagram, @loganelizabethcraig.writes.