Once again, the sparrows have nested in the gable vent. I can hear them when I open the attic door to put away my boots. The windowbox impatiens never make it to July. Someone forgets to water them twice a day and that’s the end. Likewise, this tourmaline crystal will come to grief if I try to tap it free of the pegmatite’s embrace. Who moved my cigarettes? Who made this wine delicious? Alas, I have gotten you an airport cab, and there is nothing to stop you from entering the sky.
Charles Rafferty’s (he/him/his) most recent collection of poems is The Smoke of Horses (BOA Editions, 2017). His poems have appeared in The Southern Review, The New Yorker, Gettysburg Review, and Ploughshares. Currently, he co-directs the MFA program at Albertus Magnus College and teaches at the Westport Writers’ Workshop. Find him on Twitter @CRaffertyWriter