We chase the shade from table
to tabletop, spend the day
supine to stave off the scorch.
The dry breeze carries a whiff,
past my yoga-corpse pose where
I lie then seize the sky en-
tire. My brain has caught on fire.
Below, a berm of fallen
branch & duff, some fine, most rough
will (one day) fuel to fan a
catastrophic rage. Our new
age, burning up. But first? More
news of that day’s death-by-gun.
Nancy Flynn grew up on the Susquehanna River in northeastern Pennsylvania, spent many years on a downtown creek in Ithaca, New York, and now lives near the mighty Columbia in Portland, Oregon. She attended Oberlin College, Cornell University, and has an M.A. in English from SUNY/Binghamton. A former university administrator, her writing has received an Oregon Literary Fellowship and the James Jones First Novel Fellowship. Her full-length poetry collection, Every Door Recklessly Ajar (Cayuga Lake Books) appeared in 2015; Anchor & Plume Press published her long poem, Great Hunger, in 2016. Her website is http://www.nancyflynn.com.