Cradle Song

By CODY WALKER

You’re just a baby,
And as such, may be
Susceptible to lies
(And wonder, and surprise):

Left is hither,
Hither is yon,
Santa Claus has a Santa mask on;
Right is backwards,
Backwards is broken;
Baby’s first words go unspoken:
You’re just a dad—
Spark-lit and sad—
And I’m you, in training,
And I’m gaining.

 

Cody Walker is the author of Shuffle and Breakdown. His work appears in Shenandoah, Parnassus, Slate, Subtropics, The Best American Poetry, The Yale Review, Light Quarterly, Poetry Northwest, and The Hecht Prize Anthology. Elected Seattle Poet Populist for 2007-2008, he lives in Ann Arbor and teaches English at the University of Michigan.

[Purchase your copy of Issue 02 here.]

Cradle Song

Related Posts

Washington Heights

November 2022 Poetry Feature: Anacaona Rocio Milagro

ANACAONA ROCIO MILAGRO
Because there weren’t any fireflies in the hood / as a child i imagined roaches were angels on a / mission. To save lives, they’d crawl into the mouths / of the chosen. Initially i found them disgusting. / They’d infest my Fruity Pebbles cereal. i’d pluck / them out

Image of the moon. Camera is focused on the moon against a pitch black background.

Klan Giant

TOMMYE BLOUNT
Look up here, the air is Aryan. The moon, / our white hood. Our life must loom large / above that which is darkened in our shadow. / A fate loomed long ago, ours // in the weft and warp of hems, / a lowered white curtain on this / re-coonstructed show

Black and white photo of a woman lying down in the grass.

Writing from the 2022 Outpost Fellows

STEFFAN TRIPLETT
Once again, I am at the whims of the weather. This must become a daily practice. In fear of things getting hotter, I’ve made myself too cold. Cold in a literal and figurative sense. I’ll spare you any false pretense: every move I make anticipates a climatic future.