Rappahannock Review | Issue 4.2: Michael Brokos
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Your Sister’s Children Always Disappear by Cathy Ulrich
“Your sister’s children are always disappearing when she closes her eyes….”

The Moons of Jupiter by Tara Isabel Zambrano
“When Ramirez starts moving inside me, I know I’ll be blind…”

Carnival of Death by Dale M. Brumfield
“Public opinion was slow to protest against the imbruting effect of public executions…”

Flame Test by Rochelle Harris
“For the longest time, I thought it was about the marble or the coolness of the water…”

Finding Roots by Kristan Uhlenbrock
“Settling into a window seat, I tuck the begonia cutting into the edge of my handbag…”

Conveyance by Michael Brokos
“Bas-relief your hand on a lamp pole in rain mine tracing the bus schedule…”

Stealing Clay From The Crayola Factory by Grant Clauser
“Bushkill Creek churned past the old plant where my Aunt …”

Reading Hamlet by Kathryn Hunt
“When the others were asleep she sometimes
in the silence…”

Water Children by Kathryn Hunt
“That awful thunk and suddenly the arrival of
the minus hour…”

Processing by Anna Kelley
“Kate didn’t say whether she was there for the gunshot…”

Cataloochee by Kelly Lenox
“In the woods back of Caldwell House, I rest on a mossy root…”


Michael Brokos


Bas-relief           your hand on a lamp pole in rain             mine

tracing the bus schedule                          shelter awning 

hemorrhaging water                   sunshine finished now

crashing down on the river                          southwest hills

filling with fog

                                           I’m going to shrink away

in this afterthought of light                                   faint glare

through the pane                         shards of your voice

perfuming the sewers                             neglect of shit

routed beneath these stuck-together streets  


                                                         Somewhere in my head

I’m heaven-ward           out on a boat in the

embrace of the Mediterranean         I’m dipping my oars

deep into the rush        people admire my technique

& you’re not so pretty             but pulling up in front of us


is this release                           fulfilled figuration of my body  

losing yours                         distrust smashed up against the last

and next occasion           of the sun showing me its face

dragging up & levelling a gaudy              glass-eyed gaze

to drain the paste of this

                                                     city I am leaving

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