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

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.