{"id":1175,"date":"2011-06-30T02:48:22","date_gmt":"2011-06-30T02:48:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=1175"},"modified":"2011-06-30T12:41:18","modified_gmt":"2011-06-30T12:41:18","slug":"jason-huskey-611","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/jason-huskey-611\/","title":{"rendered":"Jason Huskey, 7\/11"},"content":{"rendered":"

By A Baker’s Hand<\/strong><\/p>\n

A
\nboy
\nsitting
\nacross from
\nthe bakery spies
\nthe flash of failure’s report.\u00a0 We
\nscatter about sidewalks;
\nwomen and
\ntears flow
\nlike
\ncr\u00e8me.<\/p>\n

A
\ngirl
\nwaiting
\ninside the
\nbakery knows fear
\nfor the first and final time.\u00a0 We
\nduck and pray and fall–
\ncollapsed flesh
\nagainst
\nhot
\nstone.<\/p>\n

A
\nman
\nstanding
\nwith a gun
\nforgets why he came,
\nfrozen to fire from his hand.\u00a0 Our
\nscreams mute his madness
\nas the boy
\nboards his
\nbus
\nhome.<\/p>\n

The Thing That Should Not Be<\/strong><\/p>\n

I am a thing
\nthat should not be.
\nSo she says,
\nas she pulls the cover
\never closer to my chin.
\nA hand along my chest,
\nthe other inches toward
\nmy widow’s peak.
\nAnd then the pressure.<\/p>\n

Down.<\/p>\n

The glaze of shadow
\nshallowed through tears.
\nAn incandescent halo.
\nTaking me away.<\/p>\n

And like a switch.
\nA rustle of nurses
\ncloses in.
\nThe thrust of death
\ndeclines for this thing
\nthat should not be.<\/p>\n

In its place comes a kiss.
\nDry lips against
\nmy blood-filled cheek.<\/p>\n

And out into the fragrant hallway
\nshe marches
\nmy grandbabies.
\nReady to ruin a Sunday
\nas surely as she’ll say
\nshe loves me
\nto anyone who asks<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By A Baker’s Hand A boy sitting across from the bakery spies the flash of failure’s report.\u00a0 We scatter about sidewalks; women and tears flow like cr\u00e8me. A girl waiting inside the bakery knows fear for the first and final time.\u00a0 We duck and pray and fall– collapsed flesh against hot stone. A man standing […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-1175","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJason Huskey, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/jason-huskey-611\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Jason Huskey, 7\/11 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"By A Baker’s Hand A boy sitting across from the bakery spies the flash of failure’s report.\u00a0 We scatter about sidewalks; women and tears flow like cr\u00e8me. A girl waiting inside the bakery knows fear for the first and final time.\u00a0 We duck and pray and fall– collapsed flesh against hot stone. 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A girl waiting inside the bakery knows fear for the first and final time.\u00a0 We duck and pray and fall– collapsed flesh against hot stone. 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