Summer 2020 - Poetry

Jeremy Rock 

Transcontinental

 

And I know you are out there, tasting

acacia gum and starch, fifth in line

at your local Postal trying to speak with cardboard

 

a cipher so elaborate it cannot fit

in a phone line. You are packing used

underwear, a non-rewritable disc labeled for when

 

I can’t (be there), and my sweat-

shirt you’ve taken to sleep for a week. The tape

smells of old book binding, the flat-rate pennies

 

of a blood older than the address

to which you send. A stamp still wet with your spit promises

eternity, but you know better. You know domestic, you know

 

priority, but when you tell the clerk non-machinable hand-

sorted, you wonder if you ask too much.

 

 


Jeremy Rock is from Frederick, Maryland, and is currently a student at Salisbury University. He has work published or forthcoming in Waccamaw, The Shore, Stonecoast Review, The New Mexico Review, and elsewhere.


 

  © Ninth Letter, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.