THE NIGHT BEFORE HE RETURNS FROM WAR by Catherine Zickgraf

I’m mentally moving you in:
tossing clothes into piles,
twisting balls out of miles of socks,
pressing fresh shirts—
your irises will soon glow with
the blues and greens of cotton waves
stacked, towering on our quilt.

I’m moving over, moving over
to my side of the bed.
We’ll fuse our divided ship,
co-captain it, when once I
steered alone around the icebergs,
their fog and smoke fizzing
from black water to sky.

CATHERINE ZICKGRAF
quit law school to be a writer. Let’s hope it pans out. You can find her blog at myspace.com/czickgraf

Her writing has appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, and Bartleby-Snopes. She also has work forthcoming in GUD Magazine.

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