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a journal of literature & art

John McKernan

No Floods No Booze No Grits No Sex No Death


When I was a child we ate January snow
Packed in rusty tin cans laced with sugar

When I was a child we baked dirt pralines
In July garnished with Cass Street sand
To dine with Raggedy Ann at noon tea

When I was a child we inhaled huge gulps
Of Halloween chain-link recess air spun
Like tops until we passed out crumbling
Dirty hankies on the frost-licked blacktop

When I was a child we swallowed God whole
In tiny white wheat hosts stamped with bells
On First Friday mornings tiny candlelight knives
Gleamed in the soft oak contours of our faces
Chins tilted earthward to gold flecks in marble

It was terror that kept us beautiful & hungry
 

Other work by John McKernan

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