Biography

Biography

My den outside the city is perpetual night,

under the pewter sky

and white pill moon

crushed and parceled by stingy hands—

only enough powder to ornament the chill.

Across the highway, sunrise strobes through the lace of trees

Flooding the asphalt beyond the lumbering marshrutka window.

And Kyiv rises gold

buttressed by beams of light

Sun woven in Saint Sophia’s emerald crown

Splattered across Saint Volodomyr’s façade

Until again, frost barbs the view.

Marshrutka lurches through slush

back to the woods, to the lake beyond my den

the only thing dark enough to be real

Night closes her eyes

A shadow among shadows

As men wade into the ink

courting Epiphany

They rise

stained by history.

(The den is story now,

something to tell around the fire

as the city’s glimmer detonates)

I dip my bucket into the lake

Drawing up enough to fill volumes

Stories squirm in the ink

My Story

Yours

I fish out one word at a time

Lay them before you on the page

So you will remember

This word.

And this one.

About the Author: Hal Wright is a queer writer whose prose has been published in XRAY, Ninth Letter, The Hunger, and elsewhere.

Bells & Pomegranates