February 17, 2016

Sick Day by Ag Synclair

I fixed the bed with our best sheets
checked now and then on a sick child
and wrote a poem about old men and women
about love
and stripping down to your scars.

I heard my ghost whisper to me
that I haven’t quite figured out 
this love thing
this tangle of guts and wonder 

that finds me bruised 
like November apples
my skin blued to the bone
my peace
otherwise undisturbed.

© 2015 Ag Synclair

Ag Synclair publishes The Montucky Review and edits poetry for The Bookends Review. A Pushcart Prize nominee, he is widely published around the globe, yet flies under the radar. Deftly.

1 comment:

  1. I was wondering how Ag got by
    until I got
    the him flying under the radar
    and realized it was cooler
    than jumping over it.