the urge to be this body.
And yet, I’m still an echo
in a railroad culvert
on the prairie south of town—
a breath, the boy no one sees.
And you, your body
next to mine? You’re mangrove
and marsh and Old Florida,
a glide of jon-boat,
an outstretched finger
luring dragonflies,
pointing the way
to what’s inside.
Together, we ride this rare air—
two hovers of salt
drifting, sinking back to sea.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 25, Issue 2.
Justin Hunt grew up in rural Kansas and lives in Charlotte, NC. His work has won several awards and appears in a wide range of publications in the U.S., Ireland and the U.K., including, among others, Barrow Street, Five Points, Michigan Quarterly Review, New Ohio Review, The Journal, Solstice, Arts & Letters, Cloudbank, The Florida Review, Bellingham Review, Terrain.org, Southword and The Bridport Prize Anthology. He is currently assembling a debut poetry collection.See all items about Justin Hunt
