Note from the Editors

 

   SEEING RED 

    ENDU(RED) ADMI(RED)
    DESI(RED) WONDE(RED)
    RUMO(RED) ADO(RED)
    ENAMO(RED) INSPI(RED)
    DISCOVE(RED) SAC(RED)
    HUNGE(RED) WONDE(RED)
    EXPLO(RED) FEATU(RED)
    AUTHO(RED) SEA(RED)
    DA(RED) UNCENSO(RED)
    SOA(RED) ADVENTU(RED)

 

 

    


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Lucky You


All the breaks
you’ll never know.  Red light
that kept you from being
broadsided and brain-damaged
just three blocks further on. 
The thief who would’ve broken
in and waited under your bed
with a gun, got killed
when he was only ten, a freak
accident that broke his neck.

The thunderstorm bruising
the horizon would’ve been my last,
but I was on the couch, too sick
to get up and check the car windows
when the pelting rain started
and the tree limb fell, busting   
the sidewalk and burying
its splintered end deep in dirt.

What doesn’t happen, doesn’t
hurt—hurtles by like a city block-sized 
mountain of rock silently shooting
past the earth, whizzes by unseen
like a stray bullet, like germs in a sneeze.

Another year of drinking that water
and the doctor would’ve said,
“I hate to break this to you.”  
Good thing the phone rang.  
Good thing they took a wrong turn.  
I’m so glad you came early.  Oh, 
and that mosquito you just slapped, 
that was the one.  Lucky you.



Matthew Murrey has published poems in numerous journals, such as North American Review, Tar River Poetry and The Progressive – and received an NEA Fellowship for Poetry in 1995.  His first book manuscript, The Very Dogs, is seeking a publisher.  He’s worked many jobs, though for about 12 years he worked with adults who had serious mental illnesses, and for the last 13 years he’s been a high school librarian in central Illinois, where he and his partner live. He has two sons.


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