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Jonathan C. Stillerman: Pinpointing my father’s death     using Google Earth

October 28, 2014 by PBQ

Satellite snapshot, August 7th, 2005, 2:15 p.m. Eye altitude: 8300 miles.
Blue-green bowl of Earth on a black galactic shelf.
Cowlicks of cloud, north and south.
Click.
Northern hemisphere. Click. North America. Click. United States.
Click.
Heartland. Clouds chased by Great Lakes. Grain states
smudged with sage, ochre, charcoal, enigmatic lavender.
Click.
Illinois. Click. Chicagoland. Click. Suburbia.
County lines and highways rise as if someone
tied a tourniquet around Wisconsin.
Click.
I-94, tollway, zeroing in on a glitter of cars.
Click.
Silver minivan – buckle on a belt of road.
Click.
Back seat, huddle of little leaguers,
my brother’s glove already on.
Right arrow.
Right. Right. Right.
There.
Slumped in the passenger seat,
beyond sleep. Humble ruin.
Click.
Chest hair. Click. Scar.
Click.
Vest of fat.
Click.
Cage of bone.
Click.
Red hollow,
red organ,
dam of plaque,
mash of platelets –
a multi-car pileup.

Filed Under: Contributors 90, Issue 90, Poetry, Poetry 90 Tagged With: Contributors 90, Jonathan C. Stillerman, Poetry, Poetry 90

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