The bad little brother of the Aurorean

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[one_half last=”no” class=”” id=””]Kyle Bassett[/one_half]

[one_half last=”yes” class=”” id=””]WINTER 2016[/one_half]

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He Didn’t Die Because of How You Made the Bed

You miss your father and sometimes the clouds
Move beautifully enough,
So it hurts more than the idea
Of clouds themselves, like a cover-song only
Slightly more loved than the original.

I say this while it’s raining hour after hour
For the first time since we moved here
Through thunderstorms and a bottle of wine
Later you’ll tell me how you always used to
Make ritual out of routine, attaching superstition
– a miniature religion to keep the family safe.

I never met your father.
I know that the average cloud weighs 1.1 million pounds.


Bio

[highlight color=”” rounded=”no” class=”” id=””]Kyle Bassett[/highlight]is the poetry editor at Hayden’s Ferry Review and a student of the MFA program at Arizona State University. His work has previously appeared in Harbinger, Cloud Rodeo, Four Chambers, and elsewhere.

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