Eden

show me eye-shine and woods, hunger and the prairie below. show me the dark swoop of bats /

of little ghosts along Crossman Creek. find refuge – nest in the hollow of my abdomen.

River Black

all yellow and buzz all truss and the icy river below. I see my breath all curls and disperse do you feel it in your chest? do you feel her trace a finger across the emptiness these streets? and do you hear her? the city yawns and stretches its back. shake the paint can of my heart, let the rivulets run and pool at my bare feet. are you okay? everything is mirrored as I step from the fog of each early morning. all buzz. what, then would Alvah say? river black, and the ache of ice. show me the reflections in my eyes, all glow, all breath. my name is a fright car left abandoned on an overpass and as the river thaws open, my own spirit pushes up like a crocus.

Eric Huff (he/him) is a public-school teacher living in the west metro area of the Twin Cities. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in publications such as 1913: A Journal of Forms, Rockvale Review, After/Thought, Molecule, Livina Press, and Action, Spectacle, among others.