the whitest white on the sidewalk
I almost picked up—an older cygnet
neck almost fully tucked underneath
its lifeless body: the smell of cut grass:
I scratch my arms: sleep is the scent
of forsythia—this almost swan
©
is the author of the chapbook Round Trip (Seven Kitchens, 2010), a collaborative series of poems with numerous women poets. He has recent or forthcoming poems in journals including: Barrow Street, Colorado Review, Diagram, Horse Less Review, Hunger Mountain, Interim, Poetry East, Southern Humanities Review, Sugar House Review, Versal and several others. He lives in Cambridge, MA with two canaries, and sometimes teaches poetry workshops at the University of Rhode Island in Providence.
McLellan’s poem “And they appeared like suns” also appears in this issue.
