Thanksgiving, Portland 2017

written by Michał Nowak

I keep thinking every spoon
and mouth in mine are good

ways to adapt to this time zone,
my friends already through

the night. A scar travels the soft
belly of the dog, the litter plucked

from her ribs, leaving the fluttering
wake of heartbeats. Tonight’s neon

glosses her pelt on Division; I’m peering in
panes for a gentle mouth to place a prayer,

legs to be reborn between. The dog picks her healing
wounds, scarring tangible memories, leads me

new avenues home. The moment
streetlights go out, does the crowning

sun grant the moth daytime wings?

Michał Nowak was born in San Francisco and studied creative writing at the University of San Francisco. His writing has been featured in Forth MagazineBroke-Ass StuartTimber Journal, The Clackamas Literary Review, and the forthcoming Portland Review. He currently lives in Portland, where he is a contributing editor and designer of bilingual literary magazine, Frontera, based in Madrid and Portland.

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