Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
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Gone Lawn 35
Winter Solstice, 2019

New Works

James Diaz


You come undone. pots and pickers. old pike hounds. driver side. soft morning. hi. god called. dinosaur bones. bona fide. winner, this ticket this time i swear it. dust bowl awning. blue light. bus outta town. five am. you are not the same person anymore. death does that to you. orphans your eyelids. one name for two lanes. cut the line. sink or sink. screaming. the house. on fire. how we say i love you. stay awhile. more will come, trouble that is. be howling. some. and always. that bus don't come. grief don't hunt no loss losses less. how it is. one day you're here. next day you're not. found this ticket in the dirt. said god is a dreamer too. missing his mother. one who made him. she gone. day never came. light was no good. couldn't hold that line. couldn't you just make tea for two or something? till it passes. rain storm smile. a thousand miles. dreamer. just stop. how it is now. orphaned every morning. orphan bus in the desert. been years now. still here. and waiting. for that big win. new day comin'. but it don't. it's this way. mother missing her god. and dark on the mountain. toss stars around like stale bread. just come to bed, mountain. we're never okay down here. not anymore. not ever again.

Death in the Family

There is nothing heavier / here today / gone today / who said highway and meant closing doors / said love equals two birds crossing pink into water / her hand was see through / but only dust sticks to such a thing / who said this would be east and not west / were you left with car parts too / danny's bloody shirt / the tracks where he sat till he was hit / who said cut in two / don't mention that / we are a happy family / we are in pieces but we know what each one is called / don't call / no answers / here today / gone under water green like sleep when the size of each is demonic / mothers' shrieking to stars in the backyard / outlive me, then / why not just say his name / today / danny / without all the blood / he is just one of ours / another one / not coming home / there's nothing heavier / gone / just gone today.

The Last of Us

Can't I, though / name fifty states and each one filled with light / you don't get to cross the same field twice / that same feeling inside / one haunting is enough / there is always more / always a prize for your forgetting / here's how it really happened / went down, someone says / here's how it went down / down / two suicides / three accidents / a family album / blue / we played real good for our pain / now mother's mother is gone and she is holding on / just let go / I want to say you can let go / but instead I say; stay / haunting is who we are / how we travel / at the edge of night / shroud of / size of / and no sleep / say you love me / I know you meant it even though / all the evidence / the scars / say you're tired / you can let go / mother / you can just let go now.

James Diaz is the author of "This Someone I Call Stranger" (Indolent Books, 2018). They live by the simple but true motto that "feelings matter", every shape and size of feeling. They believe that every small act of kindness makes an often unseen but significant difference in someone's life and hopes that their poems are a small piece of that.