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Brandon McQuade

 Brandon McQuade    Brandon McQuade is the founding editor of Duck Head Journal and the author of two poetry collections, Mango Seed and Bodies. He earned his B.A. from the University of New Brunswick Saint John and his M. Phil in Irish Writing from Trinity College Dublin. For a selection of poems from his second collection, Bodies, he was the recipient of the 2022 Neltje Blanchan Memorial Writing Award. He lives in Northern Wyoming with his wife and their children.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 ► Brandon McQuade's microchap & poems are available below. Download the single-page PDF by clicking the title.  

  Origami Microchap  
Stained Wood      

Click title to download microchap

Brandon McQuade BioCVR Stained Wood 2023 

 Cover collage by JanK

SONG FOR AN OLD PINE
    after Du Fu

If you lay down flat
directly underneath it

it looks so much bigger
than it is.

If you fly overhead
everything

seems insignificant.
Limbs sway in the wind,

branches whisper
the way branches do.

Snow-covered,
roots like rock

the old pine climbs
toward the starry sky

a mountain
in the moonlit night.

It’s never been tended
or watered. I don’t think

anyone will remember it
when it’s dead and gone

it’s perfectly self-sufficient
and that’s good enough

isn’t it?

TURNING THIRTY

The blinds are half-drawn
the sun beyond

has nearly begun
its descent.

 

THIS IS IT

We’re lying naked in bed
contemplating the end

and the infinite. Physicists
believe that there is something

more than this. That the cosmos
is infinite and, in some respect,

we are too. That our energy
does not die with us. I think

this is it. We are ash or dirt,
for a time, and then

we’re nothing. I don’t care
if I’m right or wrong

only that our skin touches
before we go to bed.

LOVE POEM

War in Ukraine, a pandemic
that spans the globe

we sit together in this house
burning in love.

We can’t stop any of this
from happening.

Our love can’t solve any problems
bring peace or justice,

cure any disease or ailment.
But we go on loving,

without a second thought,
the way the ground swells

after rain bleeds down
from shingle to trough.

 

THE VIEW FROM THE GARAGE
     after Dan Gerber

These old barn doors have seen so much
and so little. The stained wood colorless

as the world in front of it. Seeing everything
from this vantage, for longer than I’ve been

living, it knows the lineage of the black bears
that maul our trash—the arguments, infidelities

and divorces of the families who lived here
before us, that history is bound to repeat itself.

Brandon McQuade © 2023