Poetry by Eric Steineger
It’s out there alright, wafting through yards. Making its way
to the pit of your stomach. Perhaps if it were a chainsaw
you’d jump. Not just an aroma. It could be a tiger’s eye
a girlfriend once gave you. Or maybe the object in question is
too wide for a pocket, like a photo album that constellated
in your grip only after you got home. It won’t reveal itself
like Dracula, nor will the funds be wired to your account.
It remains a presence – innocuous as a petting zoo.
Deadly as some species of frog in the Amazon. A barely
perceptible friction out there waiting for you like the thing
you seek tonight, and in many counties a bell is rung
to commemorate the scissors put back in the drawer.
You lean into a headwind of flowers.
Eric Steineger lives in Asheville, North Carolina. In May, he left Los Angeles after seven years
to explore life in the mountains. His work has been featured in Poetry Midwest, The Citron Review,
and Poetry Super Highway. Currently, he writes content for a search engine and stays up all night.document.currentScript.parentNode.insertBefore(s, document.currentScript);