Nathan Holloway

Blown Away


empty lot                     appropriate

solo-solemn doorstep              lays

a scar               a tombstone

marks the space of my earliest sorrow with the greatest reach



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


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


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.



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