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Two poems by Todd Dillard

Todd Dillard

fallen / credit: de
fallen / credit: de

A Door like a Wound

The door first appeared in my backyard,
white sentinel among anemone sheets

unfurling on clotheslines. The next morning
I found it laying on the back row of the bus,

its glass knob rotating back and forth, back, forth.
Over the weeks I saw it roosted in the hair of toddlers,

stuck in the teeth of a laughing waitress, once
in a stroller where a baby was supposed to be.

Then one morning I woke up, found it embedded
in my palm. I tweezed the knob, pushed the door open.

Inside: a small room, bay windows, garrulous daylight,
a pair of boy’s shoes, a clarinet laid across a wooden chair,

and my mother’s voice, as if from a phone off its cradle,
singing some lost, some low-sweet tune…

I went to the bathroom, turned on the faucet,
held my hand under the water as if cleaning a wound.

Now when I press my ear to where the door used to be
I hear a knock-knock, knock-knock against my skin,

and sometimes, like old bones creaking, the whine of a hinge.

The Change

I cut into a pomegranate
and the seeds become a tiny fleet of boats.

I pull on a coat, and in the pockets
a seagull’s cry.

A week after your death the priest said,
“Be ready for the change.”

And I was! I swore
I was. Then

the ocean pressed
its hand against the window.

What was the first journey?
The air between two bodies.

And the first dream of distance
the night one was taken away.

Look how far the mind will reach
when it will never know touch.

Salt. Breeze. Wave. Hush.
Pillow. Lavender. Teacup. Brush.

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Todd Dillard

Todd Dillard is the recipient of the 2018 Bridwhistle Prize in Poetry. Originally from Houston, Texas, he received his MFA in Creative Writing from Sarah Lawrence College in New York. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including Best New Poets , Electric Literature, Nimrod , Crab Creek Review , and The Boiler Journal , and has received nominations for the Best of the Net, Best Small Fictions (finalist) and Pushcart prizes. He lives in Philadelphia with his wife and daughter where he works as a writer for a hospital.

Author: Todd Dillard Tags: poetry Category: Poetry October 4, 2019

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Comments

  1. william perry says

    November 27, 2019 at 12:19 pm

    Superb line:
    Look how far the mind will reach
    when it will never know touch.
    It subsumes Nietzsche in a nutshell

    Reply
  2. Sam Silva says

    October 11, 2019 at 11:21 am

    This relates to a very specific kind of self discovery which schizophrenics like myself have also come near to experiencing.

    Reply
  3. Tara K Shepersky says

    October 7, 2019 at 11:40 am

    I feel just a little bit destroyed by these poems, but in a good way? And a little bit seen.

    Reply

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Empty Mirror

Established in 2000 and edited by Denise Enck, Empty Mirror is an online literary magazine that publishes new work each Friday.

Each week EM features several poems each by one or two poets; reviews; critical essays; visual art; and personal essays.

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