From the Red Land
We woke to find the desert blooming with coral
and iron ore. Our hands were smeared with the dust
of our fiery dreams. All night telescopes shook
with the passion of cosmic rays and we passed into
the body of the sun. At the kitchen table we rubbed
our eyes. Our table felt solid enough, but the hidden
world kept blinking through, and I could feel your hair
dance in the short wavelengths beyond my sight.
It was slow moving in that gravity, but I pushed on
to get the toast while you struggled with heavy mugs
and when red snow began to fall, you comforted me with
talk of ordinary things: blankets and steam and baking bread.
Steve Klepetar lives and writes in Saint Cloud, MN. His work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, including three in 2014. Three collections appeared in 2013: Speaking to the Field Mice (Sweatshoppe Publications), Blue Season (with Joseph Lisowski, mgv2>publishing), and My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto (Flutter Press). An e-chapbook, Return of the Bride of Frankenstein, came out in 2014 as part of the Barometric Pressures series of e-chapbooks by Kind of a Hurricane Press.