for Tom King by Denise Low
Behind a hedge, poison ivy pokes three-fingered mitts through the orgone box. The backyard lot deepens into tangled sumac stems and wilted brown fuzz of asters. By the kitchen door a pond nurtures algae scum. Arrowroot leaves are hatchets. Hidden outside his window lies a smaller pond, cattails at edges and moon-round, a pool he saw nights before sleep. A pool where he saw stars as fingers loosened on pistol.
