ASTIGMATIC SUMMER

Poetry

Jul 16

Where you go
there are no horses
possible. I speak Winter
inappropriately, in Summer.
The florist has a dark
streak. The father of my child
goes gray. My father, too.
He took us to the sea
in astigmatic Summer
I am glad I was not the first to
take a bite of anything on Earth.
I am glad I was not the first twin.
I eat the flower you
bring me from the cliff.
I look at my house from the outside
and see what my life appears to be.
Part of the agreement is we keep
everything the same, especially
our address. The sea of our
childhood off the Georgia shore
runs wild with wild
horses. I ate a horse
for all I know. I would eat
another.

Poetry

Julia Anna Morrison

Julia Anna Morrison is a poet and filmmaker whose work explores the intersection of poetry and moving images. A MacDowell and Yaddo fellow, Anna's work has recently appeared in Georgia Review, Bennington Review, and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Her first book, Long Exposure, won the Moon City Poetry Prize. She teaches at the University of Iowa.

ASTIGMATIC SUMMER

The Alderman Dies at the Hands of a Peasant Mob; Fei Yi Has a Chance Encounter With a Martian While Walking up the Street to Vietnamtown

Prosody