Monday, March 21, 2016

Jawbone by Howie Good

I should have kept it, brought it inside,
put it where I’d see it every day,
on the desk or on top of the dresser,

a chunk of jawbone with teeth
like nuggets of hard fact that I found
along the abandoned logging trail

and, for a long moment, weighed in my hand,
wondering at it, the message of it,
before turning back as night neared.

Howie Good recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements.

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