• Broadkill Review

"5:42 AM" By Bob Brussack



A cool, empty dark, Untouchable for the moment. The mourning doves Still, dreaming. A wind Turning in its sleep. Bleached light of a Shoeless dawn slipping in. Madness sealed away In bone, cupped Indifferently in the give Of a cotton pillow.


Bob Brussack has retired after a career teaching law at the University of Georgia. He now divides his time between Athens, Georgia, and the south coast of Ireland. He grew up in New York and in northeast Georgia. His work has appeared in the Naugatuck River Review, Passager Journal, Roanoke Review, and Tishman Review.

51 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Steve Henn

Are You Picking Up What I’m Putting Down? My GF tells me her new friend likes to lift I say I prefer to put down. Not to criticize your fitness by disparaging it but to never actually pick anything up

Three poems by Rodd Whelpley

A house is a thing you leave empty most of the day, except the dog who spits liquid on the bamboo floor, upset the moment you depart, licks it up then dozes everywhere but on his bed. You don’t know h

Two poems by Robert Strickland

The Literate City “The city is all right. To live in one Is to be civilized, stay up and read Or sing and dance all night and see sunrise By waiting up instead of getting up.” - Robert Frost, inscr