Connor Drexler

After this is over,

all roads will just be waking

from their first slumber.

Worn bar stools, cafe chairs, picnic benches

thinking they’d had their last chance

at kissing us with splinters, will rise gratefully up

to embrace our prodigal legs.

Down the trail where grass

has finally outgrown our walking, I’ll meet you

at the oldest wood available.

The long before long after kind of trees.

The souls so wise I couldn’t know

where to start with giving them names

or asking questions worth their wisdom.

When you meet me there, beneath

emerald leaves of another noisy summer,

we’ll be reminded our best chance at peace

was to simply outlive our next terror.

To persistently take back

the breath that escapes us.

And what’s a greater joy than knowing

to survive any time at all is to win day after day

against powers as big as stars

or too small to see?

Perhaps only

that what often comes with the willingness

to stand tall and rooted

despite what seeks to break us over,

is the ancient mischief of turning

in the same direction

any indomitable hand attempts

to plunge us towards oblivion.

Threatening in each fresh moment

to take to that sky whether or not we

had wings. Whether or

not we had permission to

wield a magic this brave.

Connor Drexler lives in Madison, WI. He spends his quarantine time reading books, playing and singing songs, going on long runs, and petting his cat. His work has been featured in Black Horse Review, Dovecote Magazine, Sky Island Journal, among others.