The Magic Hour

Nate Maxson

"World without end/ remember me.”

-Laurie Anderson

 

The stones you leave on loved ones’ graves

Are always smooth and round

Like the ones you’d skip on the water

Are you supposed to leave stones there? Or did I just ascribe meaning to habit?

I’m always doing that,

Always feeling for just the perfect flat skipper no matter how far I am from any seas or lakes, how far into the desert I’ve gotten

 

Old photo albums, used to be how you remembered things

You used to flip through the arranged pages, stare at the frames of all the days someone chose to rescue

 

The raindrops caught brightly on your long hair years ago, now cropped short like a military man

If I still did things the way they used to, that’s what I’d choose to keep

No old photographs for us though, we’re too young for that anachronism

But we’re getting there,

What will it be like?

When we’re the junked cars in the fields, windows smashed by neighborhood kids armed with bricks and bats

When we’re the small animals, peering out from such dark spaces at the very edge of    Autumn’s sightline

When we’re frost on the prairie grass in the storm-lit summer of your memory, pale and golden

Nate Maxson is a writer and performance artist. The author of several collections of poetry including 'Maps To The Vanishing' which is coming out in 2022 from Finishing Line Press. He lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

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