Cardiac Intensive Care

Two months have passed in a blur
Of hospital rooms and intravenous tubes.
April now, and the groundhog barely
Was out of his hole before silence

Smote with vengeance, plugging
To the very heart, biting deeply
Into flesh long cherished…
Love is a fleeing thing opening

Fully only to fade like an orchid
Half hidden and known only to a few
Some daring souls still venture
Into life’s stagnant swamp waters

To share the fellowship of love’s suffering
Being conformed to a more glorious image


His was a red dirt road
Before the state covered
It with crush-and-run gravel:
This cut down on the dust
But did little to help with his
Ability to steer a vehicle properly:
At eighty miles an hour
In complete darkness
Dad was good at navigating
Always using the stars
To chase the changing moon;
He almost caught it once
Just before it disappeared
Crescent–shaped and waning…

Death’s Song

Reality bends a bit with his second
Shot of whiskey and he feels the sharp
Release of thorny burrs on dreary flesh;
Peaceful waves of inner quiet slowly

Rise as relaxation’s roar taps spine
Its velvet white noise playing a muted
Symphony of masterful proportion:
Dressed in layered cotton purest white

A chorus sings, voices rising and falling
Like wind blown waves of autumn grain.
A sound at the door brings him back…
He leans forward rising up from chair

As metal-jacketed bullet rips naked flesh
Pinning him to his seat for death’s encore.

Nathan is a carpenter/poet living in the mountains of Tennessee.
His poetry has appeared at Red River Review, Tamafyhr Mountain
Poetry, Lily, Underground Window, Zafusy, and Blue House.

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