Grant Miller

Logic


My father left a light on for me. I never went home.

There is a story I tell myself:
A shadow on the bedframe.
A heartbeat on the other side of those mountains.
It doesn’t listen.

I went one way and then another until I wound up here.

My father’s dresser with the loose change,
the pack of cigarettes, the revolver.

I learned a thing or two about logic that day:
It is a lie written into a cloud.
It is a lost shoe in the gravel beside the railroad tracks.
It is a drained swimming pool.
It is a bowed tree.
It is graffiti scribbled onto a tombstone.
It is a broken necklace.
It is the white blooms on a hacked limb of kudzu.
I am not my choices.
I am not my viscera.

My sleep is an empty blood-soaked fish hook.

My dreams are a snake on the surface of a black pond.

My past. It longs for me.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Grant Gerald Miller was born in Memphis, Tennessee. He currently lives in Tuscaloosa, Alabama with the writer A.M. O’Malley and their son Max.

Advertisements