Epiphany

Andrew Szilvasy

Dark morning, I

           know black holes

                      spin

and dip your stars

           in the deep

                      distance,

yet I sit uninvited;

           off my porch,

                      one lone light

flickers against the

           coming of the

                      phoenix,

who yesterday

           rose only to

                      shit

on my new car.

           Only now can

                      I see:

I have built a prison

           bricked by

                      pennies

and know I now

           must put

                      my hands

against the

           cold walls

                      and push.

Help me, friend, or

           I will surely

                      starve.

Andrew Szilvasy teaches British Literature outside of Boston and lives in the city with his wife and two cats. He earned his MA in English Lit at Boston College. His work has appeared in Modern Poetry Quarterly Review. Aside from writing, reading and teaching, Andrew spends his time hiking and brewing beer.