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Cover: Calendar collage by author

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August 11

I was born a breeze
but in your green trees I dreamt
I was made of leaves.

March 19

At night on the road two headlights
followed by dark followed by dark followed
by two headlights followed by dark.

January 8

The winter pines wait
like passengers at a train
station with no trains

December 17

A Burger King cup
lying in a black puddle
of frozen cola.

April 30

The river water
wasn’t born in the river
but it lives there now.

June 13

Night, no cars, empty
intersection, no road knows
where or when it ends.                             Jason Heroux © 2023

Goodnight Dark Empty Shoe

Hopping Through the Woods 

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Cover photo by Jan Keough

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This morning at the bus-stop pale steam rose from my coffee and spread its
wings like a blind white bat fluttering from the mouth of its Styrofoam cave.

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Not everything that breaks needs to be repaired or replaced. Lend us
a puddle for our rain. Let us borrow another tomorrow, another parade.
Another gently lost paddle for the bottom of our lake.

—

The evening breaks down, our dust dances without legs in the sun, our
frightened fire hides its flame. Why is every orange-person peeled by a hand-
person, why must every rain-person disappear into a gutter-person?

Jason Heroux © 2019

Notes from the All You Can Eat Buffet

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The Daily Special

was a lifetime of joy
and sorrow, dreams
hopes and fears.
But it went fast.
And we're all out.
All we have left
now are the bones
if you still want them.
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Jason Heroux © 2016

Lonely Telephone Booth

I’ll never forget the way
it glowed on the corner
like a glass of expired milk
no one wanted to drink
or how it rang once
late at night asking for help
as I hurried past pretending
I had somewhere else to be.

After I finished my chores
I was given a raindrop
to spend in the woods
I was given a shadow
to spend in the light
a hook to spend
in the fish, a tank
to spend in the war
a bird to spend
in the cage, a shiver
to spend in the wind

If you’re living or dying either
way you’re a loose thread
unraveling from yourself
and there’s always more of you
and there’s never enough of you
and there’s always a little breath
of you left behind in some balloon