Fred Johnston: Ark
She leaned in, my mother, and felt the sleeve
First, then the shoulders, but she left it on its hanger in its own dark
Closed the door as if it were a sacred ark of rules the light might wither
Something I knew she would look at and leave
August 15, 2024 · 14 Comments
Fred Johnston: The Art of War
I can tell by the weight of your voice
How long this room-to-room guerrilla war will to last
July 23, 2024 · 8 Comments
Fred Johnston: The Summer Before We Were Killed in the War
We’d double scull the river, splitting the river
Like a scalpel through silk
June 13, 2024 · 5 Comments
Fred Johnston: With My Father on Broadway in the Rain
I wanted to be back in our hotel room
Looking out the single window from that height
Knowing I could not fall, that if all gave way I could always fly
May 16, 2024 · 7 Comments
