Wonder the Poly Hot Pot, jewel tea, cold coffee sips. Wonder the ivy cottage, the heart of onion, the white saucer, after burgers, no cheese. Wonder the girl in the cottage, her green hair, a secret elf, the smell of dinner. Wonder the girl’s mother, lipstick, Racheal, our Avon lady, Blondell. Tornados fly over Nick-a-Jack if you pray enough, because of your bones, the structure of your face. Wonder the old woman of her, those bones, stuff to prop up churches.
Wonder the prayers of violets, the tulip dancers’ feet. Wonder the days of yellow upon yellow upon blue, nothing but grass and sun and static, a cool, crisp brain. Wonder the trees, the little houses. Wonder the landscape of your nose, a complete secret. The only one you’ll ever keep. Wonder the allure, the powder touch of death, the grandfather of the boy you most hate laid out in the singlewide, the hush, the white, the concrete blocks—just one push of God’s finger, just one push. […]
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Rebecca Cook holds an MFA in poetry and creative nonfiction from Vermont College and teaches creative writing and literature at University of Tennessee, Chattanooga. Her recent books include the novel Click (New Rivers Press) and the poetry collection I Will Not Give Over (Aldrich Press). Cook’s writing has appeared in journals including Georgia Review, Pank, Poet Lore, New England Review, Story South, Seneca Review, and Carve, among many others.