Poems
Ash Wednesday
Yesterday has been a day for haymaking, global frolic, Tết fireworks in Ho Chi Minh City, spelunking in king cakes, first iftar of the fast, drones in Chongqing, but the good kind, new moon for the new year, the fire horse ringing it in with blazing ring of fire at the south pole. I would like to think it augurs well, this alignment, but on the day for reflection that follows, ashes on the subway, silent fraternity of the believing, the warmongers are building up their reserves, sending the tankers and carriers into place. Nazgul crosses the finish line with the skiers and America never atones.
Nora Rawn works in publishing subrights and lives in Brooklyn. She has pieces published or forthcoming in Dodo Eraser, Dreck Lit, Be About It Press, Burning House, Electric Pink, Burial Magazine, Some Words, and Michigan City Review of Books, among others.