NOVEMBER 26, 2022
I was cold, and each drain ditch was my guide.
I saw it done and happiness came
like a made thing, a pre-wrapped present of sense.
I am those elements what did him in.
I heard a third of the waters became wormwood,
The emerald ash
borers are outside our control as notes inscribed in
stone in snow would
need a gentle brush, force your hand and you stray
from the paths their signs
required. If there are dogs, they exist far away,
and their barks arrive
as though from a void. Bright green shoots
sag under absent leaves,
for leaves were what we came to see.
S. G. Mallett authored two full-length poetry collections and two poetry chapbooks.