Rejection Letters

Two poems

Concentric Circles

I loved a man once who would say Watch
and cover his mouth with his fist
and heave into it, tip his head back
to puff smoke out from deep inside,
and I knew he wanted me to Wow and ask
where the fire was burning
but I would only nod and say
My turn.

Many Good People Implored Me To Pray

I did sense God –
Jacket puddled at an empty bus stop
Half a bird egg in the roadside gravel
Un-bussed table of crumbs –
I was always just missing him

Many good people and I, we did try
to save each other, prod each other forward
The safest man I knew would tell me so often
to call God my father, he could never hear
God asking him to be one

I once read my grandmother’s journal in which
she did nothing but comment on the weather
She found 365 ways to talk about the sun withholding –
The sky is cloaked in patchy wool
Surely there is light beyond that gray parade –


She never did just come out with it:
I am freezing down here. Where the fuck are you?

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Cyndie Randall‘s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Frontier Poetry, Crab Creek Review, Longleaf Review, The Pinch Journal, MORIA, and elsewhere. She works as a therapist and lives among the Great Lakes.

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image: Lindsay Hargrave

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