Paralysis. & Ethan’s Angel by Cameron Morse

Lost my husband soon
to be father of our first child
on Wednesday

a child in the checkout lane
reaches up and takes
my hand


Can’t work out because I’m paralyzed
            still worried what I look
like doubled chinned sealion
            because of the steroids


What if the woodpecker
jackhammering my
eaves doesn’t this morning
erupt in the quiet gravel

grind of white noise
softening morning nap
for Omi and I begin to miss
            my nemesis


With childhood friends we
everlastingly are

fragile floor lamps
easily toppled
chided             upset Formulating emails
in the long hollow silence
hallways of      years
yesteryears immortal pets
the Siamese cat
buried in a bed of lilies
the cocker spaniel
sprinkled wind in your eyes

Ethan’s Angels.
Death rebirth
where skull equals

equals angel
infected cranium

chopped melon
he tilts into

the hacked back
of his head


sign tucked

into the trunk’s

Union Pacific Railroad


Death rebirth portal
interstitial woods
tracks among neighborhoods

where I meet my father
an acquaintance
who forgot my name

where I introduce
an  acquaintance to my son
for the first time


Feed the dreams
in your heart, Ethan says

the flames unlock
stored potential.

When my father
denies me I am not

forsaken I am for the sake of

Cameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of six collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is Far Other (Woodley Press, 2020). He holds and MFA from the University of Kansas City—Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and two children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.