top of page

Paul Ilechko

Accepting of Boundaries

Imagine living in a house with windows
that don’t fit properly 
there are so many possibilities
imagine that someone was firing a gun
in the street 
and now the glass is broken
there was a truck parked but now it’s gone
and you don’t know who it belonged to
you tell yourself that you should be prepared
for so many things that will likely never happen
there were people in the coffee shop today
speaking with a strange accent
but you made no effort to understand who or why
it wasn’t your problem to resolve 
and for once you had accepted your boundaries
you are wearing new earrings tonight 
and life feels clean and fresh again
driving in the dark on the highway
you pay close attention to each type of light
and how they fit together into a giant puzzle 
a sort of electronic maze
if you continue to drive you will reach the ocean
you can park there and walk out onto the sand
find interesting shells 
and forget every one of the problems 
that you have left behind you in the city. 

Sawdust and Vinegar

I grew up between the aroma of sawdust

and the stink of vinegar 

 

magpies laughing from the vicarage woods

on a rare day of excessive humidity

 

Steve would peer over the dividing wall

dressed in the flared jeans and velvet jacket

 

that he wore for the latter half of his life

looking more drugged than he ever really was

 

at least until the sickness dragged the factory’s 

thickness up from out of his blood

 

violence was a part of our growing up

but never the sound of gunfire in those days

 

we barely connected to the arterial 

system of major highways 

 

and any stranger that strayed into town would 

slalom in low gear through the overlapping 

 

patterns of boys playing street football 

my own dream of a different direction 

 

would finally be initiated by unexpected travel

the plot gradually evolving as I struggled 

 

to peer through the dusty windows 

wiping clean a pathway to the future.

Sean Ewing Crimson_Elegance.jpg

THE COURTSHIP OF WINDS

© 2015 by William Ray

bottom of page