Zachariah Claypole White – The Angel Reflects on the Afterlife
The Angel Reflects on the Afterlife I. The lines are long; the border often closed. The dead queue with proof of person- hood: a boatman’s coin or metro card. They sketch flags in the dirt. Though if you were to ask [why would you?] the dead would respond: there are no nations here, only widowers […]
Zachariah Claypole White – Postcards to the Angel [unmailed]
Postcards to the Angel [unmailed] Last night someone spiked my drink and [just say it] I woke up in a hospital bed, all these pointless poems bleeding from two fingers. Snow has covered and cleaned vomit from the steps; there are footprints in the ice, blood on my door. We always return to violence, don’t […]
Zachariah Claypole White – A Catalogue of Moments as Told to My Bedroom Window
A Catalogue of Moments as Told to My Bedroom Window I. Today, my father is a hummingbird against the screen, and we are candles crossing the distance. He is twenty-one: a prophecy of laughter counting pigeon feathers, and I—the sand, waiting his touch. Today, the surgery. Fingers swell ripe as harvest moons. His wedding ring […]
