Russell Karrick

Delirium

We used to drink rain in the garden
until the fruit fell & rotted. Now,

I wear a scarf
of frost & claw at the wounds
below my skin.

We folded our feathers at dawn
perched in the fruit trees & sang
the holy songs of our Father.
​
Lately, I barely lift my head
to gaze at the horizon.

Tribes used to mold clay & worship
our Mother until the mountain’s blood
drained into our rivers.

I wake up screaming––
each morning one more feather
on the tip of the tiger’s tongue.

---

Epiphany

​I’m learning about life from the bottom
up. I mouth the names of things light doesn’t touch,
like roots that grow in the gaps between our
words & songs sung by the dead. When it rains,
their voices rise like fish to the river’s surface.
I bait them with soft bread until their brilliant
scales are a chorus in my palms. Their songs
are full of hunger, so I eat for them. I sink
my blade into each belly, and where the edge
meets their flesh I see flakes of snow, a glowing red
puddle, and Jesus standing barefoot in the mud.

--
Russell Karrick grew up in Newburgh, NY. He is currently completing his MFA in Creative Writing at Fairleigh Dickinson University. His poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming, in The Westchester Review and Magma Poetry.