by Michelle Patton Ronan Furuta Equation of air and motion, construction of metal and plastic, so patient in the spare room of winter, our friend in the valley summers, such desire to be a cool blessing, your glad face turning from side to side all day. Little factory of breath, carried into the boy’s room at night, your cord slung over his arm, your breezy presence a needed lullaby for this teenage construction of sorrow and flesh, this boy whose father is in the grav

by Michelle Patton Jason Hawke I come from a family of throat clearers The tensing and tightening of the neck Before they speak, a gathering of rivers. I’d hear my dad blow his nose and hack Several times a day, a comical musette From the master bath. No one said allergies. It was simple snot made of simple sweat And the dust of everyday, a hard work alchemy Of what must be done, a commandment to survive. Sometimes now I feel them, my kin, my clan My tribe swimming up through