Jared Povanda

From Death’s Pocket

I want to say there’s love here,
but my body is detritus, and I’m afraid 

I’m projecting. I watched
Charon pocket my eyes 

from where they coined the median.
He was kind enough, but I was surprised 

the ferryman didn’t have a special bag for
passengers, only a robe made of old burlap. 

A potato sack, really, blood worked
gentle into the stitching. The dark remains 

still despite his motion. An elk’s eyes moon
over mine. The timing of our blinks 

works the tides beneath the boat. Is this love?
I dream of a magpie gathering me. 

Bells of hair threaded through
a garden gate in spring.

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Jared Povanda is a writer, poet, and freelance editor from upstate New York. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and multiple times for both Best of the Net and Best Microfiction. He has been published in numerous literary journals including Wigleaf and Phoebe Journal. You can find him online at jaredpovandawriting.wordpress.com.