Still Life from First Light by Jason Anderson

brackish water and the smell of fish
an old port with new restaurants painted over brick
hieroglyphics faded billboards and
working class topography reimagined
giant spools of some great salted rope
orange and off-white feral cats their ears rubbed soft
coming in and out cinder block dens
graffitied paint and piss—casseroled wet labels off a heineken
pagan shards of lime green glass they halo in a makeshift nest
seagulls and the river rats are teeming
across the bridge a city shrugs over fog and dawn
enchanted rough
some half a million strangers unwilling to look up
this ain’t a still life — after all
wrap those lonely parts in newspaper
hide them behind tires in your parents’ garage for her
she lit up that room on fire whole
watched flames erase the superficial face
of innocence and guilt
with your mom and our highschool friend
we gathered soot in buckets when
the snow was gone we spread ash in the garden
and if flowers grow then we’ll say you know
and if they don’t we’ll say you willed it so
just mud and sticks and frogs mossed covered logs leaves and dirt this ain’t a still life — after all
when a river is young it flows easy

• Alternative
• Portland