Motel

By ZACK STRAIT

 

There is a dark blue bible in the nightstand, a pitcher and torch

stamped on the cover in gold. I rub this symbol

with my thumb and I am comforted, knowing another

man was in this room before me, just to

place his light here. I take a seat on the bed, the verses rustling

in my lap like dry leaves as I open to the psalm

about our bodies, how they rise in the morning, settle

on the far side of the sea. And still love

follows us. Next door, two people are moaning. I turn the page.

 

[Purchase Issue 13 here]

Zack Strait is pursuing his PhD at Florida State University. His work has recently appeared in Ploughshares

Motel

Related Posts

Silvia Guerra

Translation: Moss on a Smooth Rock

SILVIA GUERRA
Nocturnally tied / The aquatic whistling pine / and the goldfinch in the garden / Over the dark torment / of being one Of being two / of loving // The waters / the swans. / The lagoon // The thin horizon / and shivering straw / At the sides of / the line...

Image of a goat on a cliff.

Trap Street

KAREN SKOLFIELD 
Twitch of the cartographer’s hand and a street / is born, macadam free, a tree-lined absence, / paved with nothing but a name. No sidewalks, / no chalk, no children’s voices, / a fence unlinked from its chains, / the cars unmoored, corn left to its rubble...

Image of a dark meadow with naked trees.

Recollections

ALEKSANDAR HEMON 
My father once asked me: How is it I can recollect / with utmost clarity what happened forty years ago, / but not what I did this morning at all? I didn’t know, / but I recognized I would always recall that moment. / It was late summer. We were driving to the country / to see my grandfather...