Fall 2009 / Issues / Poetry 2009 / Volume 40

Flies — Ralph Burns

They don’t see you coming with the TV Guide. Their compound eyes scan past the edges. Makes two, says Candace, whose hair corkscrews over her ears. Whosoever opens the door lets in flies. They sit on glass and wait like a self portrait on the outside — whosoever walks through dendritic snow; who calls and … Continue reading