~ DELTA POETRY REVIEW ~

Sighing Prayer

One moment possessed by wild, irrational hope,
         the next second hounded by doubt as ephemeral but undeniable
     as my daughter’s breath steaming up the side mirror.

         Is there faith to go around, or is it a precious commodity
                     driven by the stock markets—
routed by the human spirit vomiting filth on the parquet floor?
   Clinging to the bricks, growling up the trellis, tunneling above and below,
          cypress knees dwarfed by the indifferent palms,
                                an ambition untamed as Corsican pines
                      pumps spiny ridges of volcanic rock through my Napoleonic veins.

What genius I possess is more smolder, less flame,
                     don’t turn your face from me on our last walk along the fishing pier
                               jellyfish troubles bloating and roiling under the surface,
                     just there below,
                               under a red moon,
          coursing from the Outer Banks on the ferry ride we try to see the future
                               in black water, currents, shushing our voices in the cane stands
                     night after day, we hear an aria along the Carolina coast,

a prayer to small household gods,

          an acknowledgement to spirits in the rock,
                     whispered-chanting agitation by grackles on the asylum lawn,
          a sandpiper running toward the wave as it recedes--
                               finally communication with spirit’s unfaded memory,
          on tongues of fire,
                                         an accusing voice says don’t you dare submit
                                                                         on the banks of Cape Fear.

Memorial Gardens

Pollen blows through the air
empty clapboard church listing
to one side ever so, ever so,
paint peels, rolling thunder,
choirs of angels sleeping in
the cemetery trees humming,
rustles under the breath,
a black cassette player turns
recording the haunted voices
beyond twilight’s influence

one lane road obliquing
through the deaf garden
around the memorial stones
gunmetal gray children
preside, granite crosses ward
off evil spirits, little lambs lay
in the shadows of mausoleums.

An American flag whips the daylights,
plastic flowers weep from vases
one side of a marker lies blank,
erased from the stonedead flesh,
another spirit returned to heaven
or the earth herself awaits
the penny payment after the wake
crawling through to apotheosis.

Daren Dean was born in Missouri, but also considers North Carolina and Louisiana home. He is the author of the novel Far Beyond the Pale (Fiction Southeast Press). His new short story collection, I’ll Still Be Here Long After You're Gone is forthcoming from CJ Press. He holds an MFA from UNC Wilmington. He taught for several years in the English department at LSU Baton Rouge. Currently, he's an Assistant Professor of English (Creative Writing Specialist) at Lincoln University of Missouri.