3 Poems by Larissa Szporluk


Prayer cuts a path
in the mist of Hades.
Wind blows it back.

Prayer is an act
on Earth, gibberish
in Hades.

When the archers
threw their arrows
at the sun, 

they left a porcupine,
Prayer cuts a path

in the mist of Hades.
Wind lets it pass.
Prayer loses sight

of the soul
it was saving.
When Earth is in darkness,

Hades loves roses,
the ones that come up
with a gasp.



Rabbit has a night name.
Rabbit doesn’t know

what it is.
Everyone talks about rabbit

without rabbit knowing
what it is.

Everyone’s coming
for rabbit, chanting the name,

reaching for something
rabbit doesn’t know

they will take. 
Everyone’s chanting, 

pulling, slashing—
and then it is day,

and rosa canina,
a blood-loving flower,

waits for the friend
with the teeth.



Today I walk
with my white-haired friend,
my head bent low
in wordless affinity
as usual.

It’s easy to paint a ghost.
Ghosts are just splotches.

Beehives above us,
shapeless, clumsy,
loom like a foot,
no longer mutual.

Horses are hardest—
their bones have to show.
Clouds and hills
always change.

Always change,
Always change.

I could be a pig about to die.
I could be buttered
with a gun.

It’s a short walk back
through the jonathan,
gala. My friend
steps behind me.

We never embrace,
not today.

Elijah Tubbs