Tumbling to earth now the wax of these wings is melted,

the faint embrace of clouds lets me pass through like a

slippery newborn, and as such I blink and blink as though

betwixt the heights I achieved and the hard fact of gravity

I might yet devise a way to do something other than fall.

For all the hubris of taking the sky, I did, by God, fly,

and the heat just before the feathers loosed was lovely,

a deep shuddering pleasure that I would seek again if

only I could bounce without breaking.


©Dana Hughes 8.30.17


I’m not sure what to make of this Eclipse

thing with everyone I know going off

somewhere to not look at the sun through

pinhole glasses at the moment the moon

sashays between it and us and for a minute

or so day will become night and the owls

will hoot and coyotes howl not with confusion,

as most assume, as though they can’t tell the

difference between one or the other during a

celestial event but because unlike the spectacled

masses cheering on the darkness they know this

murk will not lift anytime soon unless we face it

open-eyed and unafraid.


©Dana Hughes 8.20.17


The box of dolls

with Sharpie dark eyes

and frazzled hair

left behind when you

grew too tall to

play with small things

would so gladly

gather at the tiny table

for a beer instead

of tea but you must pour.


© Dana Hughes  8.15.17