Evan Nicholls

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.

Recent Posts

See All

Sam Bickford

RIP MEEG <3 —and seasons don’t change but bleed through each other—and being in bed is a laxative for risk—and he didn’t sleep—and I try to place that last phone call— and his gravel pitch shifted th

Laura Ohlmann

Wellspring I pour Mom a bath of oatmeal suds and keep my forearm submerged to judge what is too hot and what will soothe her. She needs help taking a bath now. I undress her, the way she once held my

Abigail Swoboda

Video Store Guillotine After the razor nicks the back of my neck, I pet the wound for the rest of the week & I google “horror movie heroine” because I want to be hot as in un-murderable— as in big swe