Flight
Last night he had the most peculiar dream of his young life. He remembers getting out of bed, and leaving his house. He remembers walking through town, until he reached the giant water tower. He remembers climbing up the tower, and taking deep breaths while he looked over the town below him. He remembers leaping over the edge of the tower, and he remembers flying. He remembers all that he saw: his church, his elementary school, his family’s cotton fields, and his parents’ house.
While he was suspended over the roof, he remembers hearing terrible cries coming from his bedroom. But, before he could begin to translate the screams as his or another, he was awake in his bed again. And, once fully awake, he remembers being able to see with the greatest of clarity, even in the darkest hours of the morning. In the corner of his bedroom, he remembers what his father looked like, curled into a shaking ball, beneath the window, clawing out his eyes.
Zachary C. Bush, 25, is a writer of poetry and prose. He has new poetry published (or forthcoming) in Mad Hatters' Review, Elimae, Abjective, Word Riot, Mud Luscious, Lamination Colony, [out of nothing], decomP, and others. He is the author of six chaps, one 'selected' collection, and two full-length collections of new poetry, forthcoming in 2009: AT SWAN DECAPITATION [VOX Press] and ANGLES OF DISORDER [BlazeVOX [books]]. He is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing from the City College of New York. ZCB is the editor of KORA.