I try on a suit to look handsome for the stars,
ask the mirror what I have gained and what I have lost.

I mourn the death of those yet to die,
seek an urn to hold the ashes of what might have been.

I rake leaves as though they fell naturally,
say the quiet part out loud and feel no shame, only sadness.

I sip an evening breeze and admire a robin’s body,
dance to birdsong no one else can hear.

I shake my head to dislodge the ringing in my ear,
dream of Chekhov’s Gun—flinch at the evening news.

Selected byMaria Mazzenga
Image credit:Photo by Elijah O'Donnell

Andy Posner grew up in Los Angeles and earned an MA in Environmental Studies at Brown. While there, he founded Capital Good Fund, a nonprofit that provides financial services to low-income families. When not working, he enjoys reading, writing, watching documentaries, and ranting about the state of the world. He has had his poetry published in several journals, including Burningword Literary Journal (which nominated his poem ‘The Machinery of the State’ for the Pushcart Poetry Prize), Noble/Gas Quarterly, and The Esthetic Apostle.