The stars, no longer.
The telescope my father
bought me at seven
boxed-up. What do we
need? To see more
than a cloud of gas
when we look up, to know
more than brackish water.
Yesterday, I kissed
you while the earth
was picked-over—the soil
too bare for new growth.
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Justin Carter is a poet and sports writer living in Denton, TX. He’s got a PhD from The University of North Texas and poems in The Adroit Journal, Bat City Review, The Journal, Redivider, and Sonora Review. When he’s not teaching, he’s tweeting about the NBA at @juscarts.
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Andrew Reilly has published many photos in Another Chicago Magazine.
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