Erin Ganaway holds a Master of Fine Arts from Hollins University. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Leaf Garden and the New York Quarterly.
She is also the founder and director of In Medias Res, a tutoring venture that offers a boutique approach to teaching children and young adults the art of writing.
You say you have your sights set
on a Wood Duck, incandescent in flight,
jigging like a lure through the thermals.
You jet before dawn, a jarred firefly,
batting the lid with your wings, muting
your taillight in canvas cargoes. You say
you will return before I wake and I roll
to your down pillow, warm and gaunt as
a burlap sack of flour spilling into our bed.
I curl into hypnogogia, knock about
in lucid dreams until I am plucked clean
from the plumage of half-bruised sleep.
Your watch clicks from a bureau drawer of
Battenberg, a train mewls through an hour,
the electric heat whirs still in the oak and
plaster walls, cracking alive and then settling.
Here in the house all goes noiseless as
wet gunpowder, and there you are cursing
your misfires, while I lie barren and
muffled, static in our serrated morning.
Enjoy "Decoy"? Try Jeanne Larsen's "Paradise Garden"