1.
Sinking another hour in a frayed net the sun makes
of the particulate sky.
2.
Ditch lilies pivoting before the long nightfold back
into themselves.
3.
The rectangular pond where black wavelets eat at the
darkness underneath.
4.
Down a man-made beach, the framework of a skunk
decomposing in weeds.
5.
The rusted hulk of the bean thresher, sharp knuckles
and broken teeth.
6.
Five plastic buttons, the bra-clasp, the sudden small
gospels of her breath.
7.
Frayed lilies, black framework of weeds. Rusted bra-
clasp. Gospels. Broken.
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About Todd Smith
Born and raised in rural west-central Illinois, Todd Smith studied poetry, music, and math at the University of Virginia, and received his MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. Recent poems appear or are forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, River Styx, North American Review, Barrow Street, Palette Poetry, Meridian, Barren Magazine, Crab Orchard Review, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. He received Frontier Poetry’s 2017 Award for New Poets, and was a semi-finalist in the 2018 92Y Discovery Poetry Contest. A valuation actuary by profession, he lives in Des Moines, Iowa.
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Todd Smith 