Nathan Holloway

Updated: Feb 9

Blown Away

empty lot appropriate

solo-solemn doorstep lays

a scar a tombstone

marks the space of my earliest sorrow with the greatest reach

first

hallway closet my mother’s majorette costume sparkles

I sneak it on my body

feels like a golden trophy in a case

then dining room large

where Christmas Stretch Armstrong, X-Men, Batman

line the walls in their packaging punch of irony

heroes where I know best loss and fear

to the left, kitchen;

adjacent living room.

right, a hallway I can’t imagine lit

then

bedrooms parts of me still cower

and a bathroom

forgettable except for narrowness

once there were puppies born—Bailey

a stolen beagle puppy I mourned for months

sexual awakening I mourned for

what day is it?

the first HIV test came summer 2010

first breath a relief four days later

results


 

Nathan Holloway is a poet, photographer, and composition instructor living in rural Arkansas and documenting the experience of being rural, queer, and southern. You can find his work forthcoming in The Esthetic Apostle or on Twitter @unnatural_state.

Recent Posts

See All

Vots de casament I hear a woman yell but she’s a bitch! She’s a bitch. I sit on the red sofas of the Monarch bar, again, a beer. La más barata, por favor. Brindo por mis tías. Many alcohólicos en mi f

THE ROAD HOME The road home is full of dusts, on your way back you would learn to take Those classes you fled from, lessons of patience, how to marry the chaos softly, How little could mean bounty som

how to banish a ghost ritual is just another name for the habits grief carves from a mourner’s tongue. you empty your mouth until you’re a rabid song knee-sunk in your mother’s garden. prayers a rift