History

Joe Wilkins

Anything worse                                                 can you imagine the stinkof floodwater children chasing each otherfor a game through green squelchingpesticide grass                                dragonflies not ever even once closingtheir mineral eyes                history occurs at the cellular levelthis or that wet gate                                                                                thrown opena parade of kinked or otherwise kinked proteinsshuffling down through the centuriessuch that your thrice great-grandmother                                                                                                every peckof sour barley & shame yet haunts your RNA I’m seriousI blame the hard Finnish winter of 1863for over by the creaky swings                                                                the skater boys huffing spicethe exclusion acts for the neighbor woman we never seeone night                                hauled out beneath the whitest sheet& this morning when into bed with us my six-year-old sonslides his small perfect body                                                                    I’m thinking twenty thirty forty years hencethe wet messages even now assembling                                                                                    falling through arterioles & bonesI’m thinking last night of him not going to bed not going to bed                                                                                                                                    not not notI ripped off his blankets blazed the lights nearly shatteredthe damn window flinging it up in its frame                                                                                                you want to stay up all nightfine all right are you                                                    all right I ask this rain-dark morning& in answer he snuggles up against me                                                                                    his allotment of lying bloodjust two skins from mine

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Joe Wilkins is the author of four books of poetry, including Thieve (2020), winner of the Blue Lynx Prize, and When We Were Birds (2016), winner of the Oregon Book Award in Poetry. Wilkins’s debut novel, Fall Back Down When I Die (2019), shortlisted for the Center For Fiction’s First Novel Award, was praised as “remarkable and unforgettable” in a starred review at Booklist, and his memoir, The Mountain and the Fathers (2012), won the GLCA New Writers Award in Creative Nonfiction. Wilkins lives with his family in western Oregon, where he directs the creative writing program at Linfield College.

Summer 2019

Baton Rouge, Louisiana

Louisiana State University

Co-Editor & Poetry Editor
Jessica Faust

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