• 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.

67 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

In the ditch a deer carcass, no head from You Are Happy by Margaret Atwood It was a silent beauty I found, had yearling antlers, much more than the horny buttons of a fawn. Its fleshy muscles would pr

The Bigness of the Herd I can never get over the bigness of the herd, the stampede of clouds cascading over the warehouse, I-70’s commercial river of blood lights: heads or tails? Nothing could be mor