top of page

Nathan Holloway

Blown Away

empty lot appropriate

solo-solemn doorstep lays

a scar a tombstone

marks the space of my earliest sorrow with the greatest reach

first

hallway closet my mother’s majorette costume sparkles

I sneak it on my body

feels like a golden trophy in a case

then dining room large

where Christmas Stretch Armstrong, X-Men, Batman

line the walls in their packaging punch of irony

heroes where I know best loss and fear

to the left, kitchen;

adjacent living room.

right, a hallway I can’t imagine lit

then

bedrooms parts of me still cower

and a bathroom

forgettable except for narrowness

once there were puppies born—Bailey

a stolen beagle puppy I mourned for months

sexual awakening I mourned for

what day is it?

the first HIV test came summer 2010

first breath a relief four days later

results


 

Nathan Holloway is a poet, photographer, and composition instructor living in rural Arkansas and documenting the experience of being rural, queer, and southern. You can find his work forthcoming in The Esthetic Apostle or on Twitter @unnatural_state.

Recent Posts

See All

Miles Cayman

Ø I think your name is less like itself is more like your middle name and most like the way you've held your pencil ever since you practiced cursive, and the ridge of callus precisely on your finger t

Javeria Hasnain

I ONLY CAME TO SEE GOD on the altar. When all the guests had left, & the smell of tuna had wafted far off into the ocean from where it came. No one truly knows. I waited for you, even though I knew yo

Clay Matthews

The First Law of Robotics What kind of malfunction brought you, little daffodil, with the afterbirth of an early February frost; what maker of clocks, what loosed screw; what turned and left the heart

bottom of page