An interconnected family of supernovas burning bright in the night sky: take a moment, reach out—join us.
There are Spirits Walking
the Rocks of Lake Superior
Matthew Miller
The sun, again,
believes in resurrection,
a gritty everglow
on the letters I carve
in the sand. Your name
will be here tomorrow,
stuck like a raisin in our throats,
buried like a stone bench
under birch leaves,
dry husks of sunflower seeds.
The horripilation in that vacant shell,
the taste of salt, of pickled herring. There’s silence
in shade. We call it ghost. We imagine
the moon, shimmering like a spirit
on the lake. Never truly
going away. All the ripples,
the light that rises again,
reflections of the sun.
About the Author
Matthew Miller teaches social studies, swings tennis rackets, and writes poetry–all hoping to create home. He and his wife live beside a dilapidating orchard in Indiana, where he tries to shape dead trees into playhouses for his four boys. His poetry has been featured in Whale Road Review, River Mouth Review, EcoTheo Review, and Ekstasis Magazine.