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Category archive for: Kary Wayson

This Before All the Laws

I feel what they mean about actual love—as a child

I did a lot of kneeling in the backseat.

I’d watch what we passed

or be passed

first and sometimes be scared

because one

was following.

Or maybe it’s more a marching band—

into the wind/ of an aisle/ to the bar/ on a south-bound/ Amtrack/ train—

all that neglect

in my oncoming childhood— maybe it went like

deep in the bends

of a country-dark road, you shift

the seat

of your stranded car—and

there—not ten feet from it—

a coyote comes

too close.

Look at him: He looks at me.

The whites of his eyes are equal teeth. That wing

of the bird he’s got in his mouth

half-eaten/ is still beating—

from Poetry Northwest 11.1 Summer & Fall 2016More by Kary Wayson from the library

Copyright © Kary Wayson
Used with the permission of the author
on behalf of Poetry Northwest.

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.