1 poem
by Whitney Walters & nayt Rundquist
Deliquescing Firmament
The deluge pounds down
upon my exposed skin
painful yet refreshing
like that first jump
into the lake each summer
but once you're in, you never want to leave
that hallowed hollow.
They could drag you, flailing, wailing
crying to be left behind
wrapped in the feeling
of a warm summer breeze
whispering across fields
singing grass and trees to life
as if it could be any other way.
I read the stories in tree rings.
I know the way
to the end times.
I see what we will be After.
Everything is just beginning.
I wouldn't douse your doubts yet.
They keep you fearful, keep you alive,
prevent you from running
headlong toward guaranteed death.
Don't you see the lilacs?
The way they live summer
only to rust like fall?
Only to fall like rust?
Only to fall like fall
and never to land
gracefully, the way a skier
sinks after releasing the tow rope.
I always admired that.
The way the water doesn't
run from your skin, but
congeals, becomes one
aphorism—one that resounds
of verity within—unquestioned,
so sure that it
can bring us infinity,
reveal life beyond abyss
free from strictures of the real
dystopia. Now is only
an evaporated moment.
Whitney Walters
Whitney (Walters) Jacobson is an Assistant Professor at the University of Minnesota Duluth and an Assistant Editor of Split Rock Review. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University Moorhead. Her poetry and creative nonfiction have recently been published or are forthcoming in DASH, Fearsome Critters, the Same, The Thunderbird Review, and Wanderlust Journal, among other publications.
Nayt Rundquist
Nayt Rundquist is Managing Editor at New Rivers Press. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from Minnesota State University Moorhead, where he currently teaches English and Publishing courses. His work has appeared in X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine, The Long Road to Spring, and Etchings