By Jack Stewart High up, leaf-shadows leap like squirrels across bright spaces. The shade I stand in below is indolent as fog on water. I want to write a line that dreams itself, or touches a face back into memory. Under dead leaves softened from melted snow and spring rain, the syllables of grubs are moving, unseen, unheard, white food. What do you have to be willing to take into your mouth, your belly, to be able to say what you want to say? What do you have to risk you’ll become? Jack Stewart was educated at the University of Alabama and Emory University and was a Brittain Fellow at The Georgia Institute of Technology. His first book, No Reason, was published by the Poeima Poetry Series in 2020, and his work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including Poetry, The American Literary Review, Nimrod, Image and others.
Jack's other work on Foreshadow: The Return (Poetry, September 2023) Camel and Needle (Poetry, October 2023) Rest on the Flight into Egypt (1) (Poetry, January 2024) Rest on the Flight into Egypt (2) (Poetry, January 2024)
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