Construction Literary Magazine

Fall 2018

Two Poems

Two Poems

Formatting for image content: Photograph via Flickr by Virtual Artist Frank Bonilla

9 Below

The heart must either break
or turn to lead, I can tell you that.
“Oon,” the 2-year-old said,
pointing at the sky. He meant “moon.”
It’s about yearning, it’s about words
and the spaces between words.
This was another bitter cold night.
In the early hours, a chorus of yips
and squeaks echoed through the icy air.
Coyotes, keeping warm.

 

Postcolonial Melancholia

If you stare,
the blood-
stained figure
stares back,
daring you to ask
what it’s like
to be a thing.

You turn
your face away,
and through
the window,
you glimpse
debris,
the farming
of bones.

Only then
do you realize
you’ve been
hearing vague
hammering
for some time now,

diamonds
of light falling
everywhere,
darker
than blue.