Common or garden poets #9 Morgan Bell inviting Jan Dean


The Grave

For Jan Dean


“the zucchinis are King Midas

withering in their own liquid gold”


Magdalena Ball, ‘False Promise on Petals’


a backyard is a cemetery.

there are tiny bones down there.

bones of birds and mice and skinks.

each year they subside further

into the sandy soil.


if you were buried there,

the way you wanted to be,

all that would be left of you

in one hundred years

would be your teeth and some nylon thread.


you will always be

that sole cigarette ember

on a summer night

blending into the wilds of the garden you planted

behind a sentinel of spiders

Morgan Bell

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