For Walt

By Ezra Blaize

I tried reading Whitman in the
grass in front of my family’s house.

My ankles have the marks of fireants
to prove it-
my brow has the red of noon to prove
it-
my body has the bronze of dust to
prove it. He told me

the best come from here-who are
planted young and spring like jacks
through a shielding green canopy-
and the air makes them right
in form, and taking the earth to
bed after tasting her skin makes
them right in substance. And who

am I?…resting in domesticated brush,
flipping through your clay-blood words,
itching my hip with a twig while stray
cats howl at dinner hands. And who am

I to consider your America through a
clean, glass face?

***

Ezra Blaize is a recent Flagler graduate who will be pursuing a Ph.D. at University of Wisconsin’s Curriculum and Instruction department. He writes two to four pieces a week, and hopes to engage as many publishing opportunities as possible sometime in the future, post-grad school.

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