VOXOxford Mississippi’s Independent Literary Journal
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Jason Tandon
Cemetery of Exploded Planets
In a cemetery of exploded planets
my love sprinkles thumbs in
the earth.
These will grow grasping hands, she says,
watering the little mounds.
The dark day stuffs into a trunk,
closes with a rusty buckle.
We were once fat and dimpled,
as strong across as clouds,
she declares into a statue’s
eyes–
bronze, its left foot forward.
Black leaves slick the street.
Crows peal from a high gate of trees.
With brown crayon a child scribbles
the moon. My love’s face
upraised,
Considers like an empty canvas
then stiffens with a drop of
oil.
Vox 1.2 Page 28