Ask the Trees
I flip a quarter, and George Washington dares to tell me repeatedly that the days are getting shorter. I do not trust him. There are no depictions of him crying.
My Venus flytrap mocks my fascination with wooden teeth. That which is plant-based can be as cruel as that which bleeds. Ask the trees. Ask the rope all dressed up as a noose.
I rarely vacation. The sun wears me down, and the soothing waves of the ocean affect my memory. Stem cells give up their uniqueness as they let their environment define them. I have a conversation with a patriot at the beer cooler.
Glen Armstrong
Glen Armstrong (he/him) holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters. His poems have appeared in Conduit, Poetry Northwest, and Another Chicago Magazine.
More: https://www.instagram.com/gfaatou/
I get a strong sense of someone on the edge, with one foot in the world we call reality, and the other balanced on the raft that carries us across the final river. Thank you, Glen. Nicely done.