by Philip Kobylarz

Having been there, we attempt to return in the easiest possible way. A souvenir of a plant

unearthed and re-potted

leaning its hair towards the fine-toothed comb of sun, the only never-forgotten. About the May pole

vines once bloomed.

Wooden chairs act as maps unto themselves confident they will never suffer dysentery. And water

still in the fish bowl, after

the fish, unable to mate, expired in sleep. If the alley leads to nowhere, follow it for lack of corners.

 

[Philip Kobylarz is a teacher and writer of fiction, poetry, and essays. He has worked as a journalist and film critic for newspapers in Memphis. His work appears in such publications as Paris Review and The Best American Poetry series. He is the author of a book of poems concerning life in the south of France and a short story collection titled Now Leaving Nowheresville. His creative non-fiction collection All Roads Lead from Massilia is forthcoming from Bequem Publishing of Adelaide, Australia and his book now available from Brooklyn’s Lit Riot Press is titled A Miscellany of Diverse Things.]

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