by Dale Cottingham

Searing, seared: where he shrivels from her
after trying one last time. One way the self, having
grown used to a surround, sees it—

suddenly, starkly, stunned by it—

for what it is.

Outside, cars, trucks on the Interstate
downshift, over-shift, make efforts to slow down,
speed up, heading to a future,
what can be bright, or painful,
yet to be written.

There’s a passing that we sometimes stumble
into, sometimes we think we know what to do. There are
shadows that come overhead, burden us for a time, then leave.
He lies flat on his back, silent but thoughts race,
more than electric, more than lucid, more like
hitting bottom, like he’s reached a crossroad:
how will he live now.

Dale Cottingham has published poems and reviews of poetry collections in many journals, including Prairie Schooner, Ashville Poetry Review and Rain Taxi. He is a Pushcart Nominee, a Best of Net Nominee, the winner of the 2019 New Millennium Award for Poem of the Year and was a finalist in the 2022 Great Midwest Poetry Contest. His debut volume of poems Midwest Hymns, launched in April, 2023. It is a finalist in the 2023 Best Book Awards for Poetry. He lives in Edmond, Oklahoma.