By: Josh Anthony
pseudo-horror poem in the morning
in the morning glaze a batch
of donuts wait and only
when she sees them does
the kitchen emerge.
though the savory wrinkles
of tourtiere still
mingle on the counter,
everything is now awful
with sweetness. aunts
and uncles have yet
to rise, she has first
pick and chooses a boston
cream donut that drips
immediate. she is alone
and feels it. everything
will be movement soon. soon
grandpa will come
from the driveway,
grandma from the porch
searching for coffee. now, then,
something visages
from the chocolate frosting,
and the grass acts as if
it is snowing.
pseudo-horror poem at the ice cream parlor
pistachio shells on the counter
like hollowed and dead
and hollow stones.
her shoes feel full
of the stream’s sound. the neighbor
boy distracted by everything
lets his ice cream melt
and smear across his hands
so as he spreads his fingers
to pick up a skipping stone
it looks as if he has
webs between his fingers.
a sun different today, a strange
dry heat for july. a fly
stuck in sugar, she takes
a thread from her pocket
and leashes the bug, frees it
from the gunk and watches it
struggle in the glimmering dust.
Josh Anthony is an M.F.A. candidate (please vote for me) at Eastern Washington University. Josh has appeared in a fingerful of magazines including Crab Fat Magazine, Gone Lawn, and Anomaly Literary Journal.