YOUNG AMERICAN POETS

Our hearts like shelter dogs
slipped from cages of cool light.
Our run-on sentence of road dipping
into the valley of the shadow
of hope, who, these days, can be seen
smoking in a fur coat dragging
silver candy wrappers. To be
so glamour-haunted and hollow-boned.
To boil with an admiration hot
as jealousy. Already we have
outlived The Greats like singing candles,
their mouths dripping wax
as they lumped themselves
into fire—They did that for us.
Our gratitude wrestles the clever twitch
in our irises. We never did
sweep the honeycomb from the stage,
sculpt idols. In a hotel room we pour vodka
into water bottles. Text the moon
you up? Text heyyy to the jaw
of a fox laughing on a park bench, text
our country—which has no name
to kiss, or kill, but with a dry mouth
bites our love songs into silence—
We’re coming for you.

Clare Welsh is a poet based in Pittsburgh. Recent poems have appeared in The Coal Hill Review, Salt Hill, and The Massachusetts Review. A graduate of The University of New Orleans writing workshop, her work has been nominated for Pushcart, Best of the Net, and Best New Poets anthologies. Her chapbook Chimeras (2015) is available through Finishing Line Press.