POETRY
I Can Feel It
the children screamed behind smoky walls of sparkler spit
we shuffled on the outskirts, warning, encouraging
feeding off their warmth and delight
joy a form of thanksgiving
the Lord adores most
deep in my pocket I can feel the message God sent
oily chunk of binder paper, folded over and over
and over again, I can feel it burning with the joy-screams
flung up as spent sparkles
rain to the ground
Sacred, Scared
where cotton meets skin
at the top of your hip
my hand often settles,
holding you to sleep
much I didn’t have time to share
some I couldn’t bear to reveal
as your breath slows, here come dreams,
crossing bridges wet with rain
when this grows tiresome
I turn away and begin to touch
all the thoughts I’ve kept as my own,
sacred friends, sacred enemies
“Gut-Punched,” read by Casey Mills.
Gut-Punched
never thought I needed forgiveness
until it came like a gut punch
forcing me to drop all the pretty things
I’d been carrying towards salvation
as treasures erupted in shards at my feet
I stood there empty-handed
and realized never had my hands
been so free to pray
to give thanks, to glorify, to ask
wading deeper into rivers of humility
pulling ribbons of holy love from my chest
and sending them twisting toward the sky
Casey Mills writes poems early in the morning before his kids and the sun wake up. He has poetry appearing or forthcoming in Ekstasis, Amethyst Review, and Solid Food Press.
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Heart of Flesh Literary Journal 
