- All Your Sadness Will Be Arkansas
When the day levels quietly to dark,they remind you of time, of place, of song. You will lose them, and all your sadness will be Arkansas, rural and mispronounced, its roads smudged by the fog's blue prints, its pine board shacks spread with soft mud to keep out mosquitoes and the cold. The kitchens and porches where you aren't will cease to exist. You'll miss the rain in autumn dowsing the fire of the leaves. The writhing of the wind like a water moccasin. Like a convict you will sing, Rattla cain't hold me, Rattla cain't hold me, while outside the fence, the poplars, stripped by gypsy moths, stand bare.
Ian Haley Pollock lives in Philadelphia and teaches English at Chestnut Hill Academy. He received the MFA in creative writing at Syracuse University.