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DAVE GRILL
Dave Grill is an artist and writer living in Central Pennsylvania, where he is co-host of
Poetry Brew in York, Pa.. He has an extensive exhibition history, and has been published online in a number of places including
Identity Theory, and in print in Browbeat and School for Barbarians.
OVER HERSELF AND THE HORIZON
There they were,
some things she had agreed to herself
that she wanted.
Just there, backlit
on this side of the horizon.
beyond or before the curve.
If she held her thumb at arms length
and closed one eye
she could not see them.
It had been some time now,
she told herself,
she was working in that direction.,
hatching plans within plans.
She rolled her eyes back into her head slightly,
looking up
as if thinking about jumping over herself.
It seemed to her that the trick was
to want things at the right time
or the right place.
The past sang in her head where it had left her
like the lowest note of a cello.
She squinted, the horizon blurred
and what she wanted became-
not like a dream,
but like that point when you are introducing someone
and you realize that you have forgotten
their name.
The distance saved her,
as it sometimes will,
and then it left her alone,
which is where she had wanted to be
all along.
THE FAULT LINE
Well, you tapped along the fault line
cracked it open
yawning with shuddering dust.
Once inside
the strata are clear
tremulous layers,
fossilized and scared.
Echoes along one vast wall
crumbling,
with terraced limestone
to climb out on,
red.
Looking up into the
birdspace above,
it hurts the neck.
Haul your slack body out,
slippery with salt
and terrra incognita.
Leaving a fingernail behind.
The tectonic plates close behind you,
eventually
pulled together by ego,
or self preservation.
I’m not sure which.
copyright ©
Dave Grill
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