Ghazal In Retrograde
The Plains, town ten miles away from you, Evan Nicholls,
plain Fauquier boy–– do you recall what home laughed like?
There was plain speaking in the place. You could not name
your mother’s sound, nor the crying of a fox now if you tried.
And the plains peaking into hills into nowhere–– when you
became nowhere, you lost a certain timbre from your throat.
Like when it is plain to know a fact is a fact. If your mother dug
your heart from the mud of your mud what would sound there?
Would plain song breathe ten miles down inside of you? Would
horse hoof, ragweed, peachgut? Would there lament a nightdog?
Or just a moon plain turning its back?
Rock Hill Mill Stable
The horse has been drinking
and I have been drinking.
I have named the horse Grief
Evan Nicholls has work appearing in Passages North, THRUSH, Pithead Chapel, GASHER and Whurk among others. He is from Fauquier County, Virginia. Follow him on Twitter @nicholls_evan.