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From the Fall Issue “Connectivity



Not a boom. A murmur.

No one’s sure of its direction.

Place an ear to the ground, the ground grumbles

in irritation at its brother the prodigal sky

whose cocksure blue supplies an open invitation

through which the glint of fuselage descends,

a toy: all cheery rumble

until its doubled shadow lashes fire

and smoke plumes bloom in tidy puffs

of spattered ash. Bang-Bang

the sashes of the village windows slam

before the flutter and jitter of women’s hands

as if a wooden sash could keep the end at bay.

Day darkens as ash rises. Glass shatters


– Eliza Griswold

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