and when the dust had settled
when the chimes of autumn
were laid to rest
in its concrete sailboat
i rid myself of brittle & barrier
of skeleton man who runs
w/o heart
gone
like its had-been flesh
i slowly position my head
on a pillow
in a dark room
head heavy as an anchor
that was spared into an ocean
by a God
who set apart
sleep as redemption
for a sinner
About the author
Tonya Ingram is a New York University alumna, a Cincinnati native, a Bronx-bred introvert, and a soon-to-be Los Angeles flower-child. Her work has traveled…
Read the full bioIssue 18 · June 2013
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
- Postcard Prose
By Kelly Hill
Trying to wrap my mind around living on a tropical island for thirteen years and never once seeing the ocean, I stumbled through my Indonesian vocabulary to say, It’s good. It’s big.
- Travel Notes
By Sandra Larson
A dinosaur dangles over my grandson at the Field Museum near a pink thumb that pops into the prom picture of my granddaughter dressed in strapless red leaving her house in Medina …
- Travel Notes
By Megan Hallinan
The bill in question is actually a 2,000 West African franc note, and it’s the equivalent of about four U.S. dollars. A helpful sum, really, but as I clutch the weathered crinkle in my sweaty palm, its value feels as dirty as the grime that is undoubtedly being transferred to my fingers.
- Poetry
to Egg and Berry brewery, to the pack / of Czechy words I made but didn’t work / in this pink town. I’d readily go back / to your best spots, the unfired gun, that perk //
- Poetry
By Jason Warren
And if the neap tides of my beauty / sadden him, I cannot help it: / I hang high, the waxy night light …
- Poetry
By Anastasia Vassos
Three thousand ancestors ask how I straddle / the sea, a foot on either shore. //
Read more Poetry or Postcard Prose
