All True Heavens                                                                    by Tim Moder

Your house has hidden doors, as do all true heavens.
Through them we follow silver smoke in footprints
from incense, in secret, alone, to yesterday’s yesterdays,
where girls in candy dresses, walk among the living and
the dead, speaking haiku. They ask, is this an agate?
Is this is an agate, or a door? Or possibly a key?
The morning brings a green that reflects the infield.
There are angels on top of Pattison school. See the ghosts
of first kisses, painted in block letters on taconite trestles.
We said. We swore an oath. We said, more to ourselves
than each other. We swore. But nothing grows when planted
in memory. Not People. Not Trees. Not promises. Not Keys.
Here, the land is not sick. Cars don’t chase us. Nobody
watches the news. They teach us to tie tire swings to
the ugliest tree by the slow river, and to jump without regret.
We lay in raspberry fields behind the university, where
and when we stare up at opening clouds. We wish them into
recognizable futures. A day moon suspends over the Ferris wheel.

Tim Moder is an Indigenous poet living in northern Wisconsin. He is a member of Lake Superior Writers. He manages a small team at a medical records company. His poems have appeared in South Florida Poetry Journal, Door Is Ajar Magazine, Paddler Press, Penumbra, and others.

Guest Editor, Joan Kwon Glass (she/her) is the biracial, Korean American author of NIGHT SWIM, winner of the 2021 Diode Editions Book Contest, & is author of three chapbooks. Joan is the Editor in Chief of Harbor Review, a Brooklyn Poets mentor, poet laureate of Milford, CT, a Connecticut Office of the Arts Artists Respond grantee & poetry co-editor of West Trestle Review. A proud Smith College graduate, she has been a public school educator for 20 years. Her poems have appeared in Diode, Rattle, South Florida Poetry Journal, & many others. She grew up in Michigan & South Korea & lives in Connecticut with her family.


One thought on “All True Heavens                                                                    by Tim Moder

  1. “But nothing grows when planted
    in memory. Not People. Not Trees. Not promises. Not Keys.” Haunting. Beautiful.

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