top of page

Two poems by Cameron Morse

A Circular Arrangement

Whorl of dark hair on the scalp of my newborn

daughter Gigi, so thin her skin shows

through, and the red cloud of a rash. My life,

too, is a circular arrangement, a kind of circular

reasoning for one life to give meaning

to another. Gigi’s face averted, her cheek smooshed

in solemn, needful sleep is enshrined

in the white noise emanating from my iPhone

aglow among white leaves in the blue

print of the bedspread. I saw a photograph of myself

as a young man who could not imagine

having kids, the affirmation involved in that and now

I want a third magnolia to complete

the trinity of blooming trees.

The Geese

Twilight opens a window

on the drive home from Legend of Asia

with the kids in their car seats

for thousands of disparate geese flocks

for vast swarms to storm the house

momentarily vying for victory

over disbelief. I try explaining why that

letter of the alphabet to Theo,

who is learning his ABC’s, but can never

get a word in edgewise. I am overwhelmed

by their letters flapping crosswise

in this window between diagnosis and death.

Sun down, a helicopter crashed

just an inch beyond the burning horizon.

Cameron Morse (he, him) is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and three children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.

Recent Posts

See All

Two poems by Kathleen Hellen

city of flaneuse, in crayolas with lines from the Rolling Stones Peach that used to be flesh-colored Indian Red (extinct)—now comes in colors head scarf in magenta, jogger barbie pinked comes dogwalke

"Stop Tagging Me in Photo Albums" by Vicki Liu

My first date’s hobby was going to therapy. The conversation was excellent then I never called him back. Amazing how I once ate a frozen grape and felt like I was tasting god. I’ll never go to a garde

"Ill-Conception"by Jacob Griffin Hall

Growing up, I never wanted to be anything. Someone walked with me, a babysitter maybe, and watched as I pocketed a handful of thorns. I never thought they’d make a memorable crown. No one died when I

bottom of page