By Mike Santora

Featured Art: Chroma S4 Blue River by John Sabraw

I don’t care what the tastemakers say —
you can’t beat nostalgia
for a flightless bird worth riding
a little.

It’s still a hayabusa running the underbelly
of thunderheads or weaving
through the innerbelt.
Or it’s the corner kid
freestyling through a smile
as silly and joyful as a French horn
solo.

What I’m saying is
I’ll run with any good thing,
and now I’m reckless
in my empathy.
I’m more than a budding corpse in the wild
waiting to be born
into this ceremony of dust.

For tonight,
my heart’s the size of a wedding
and I’m in league with the last
of the lamplighters
because my son
is still alive
and nothing’s coming for his lungs
as I slow dance
him to sleep.

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Michael Santora received his MFA in Creative Writing from the University of New Hampshire. His first chapbook, Sugarflood, was published in 2017 by Finishing Line Press. His poems have appeared in Booth, Dukool, Grey Sparrow, and others. He lives in Cleveland, OH with his wife and two children.