Kathleen McGookey


No, not every story is about the body. Take this one: my father dies.
The sky and earth, even the field corn in unwavering rows,
close neatly around that unoccupied space.


I held the slight weight of absence before I scattered it under the wild
dogwood one spring, then brushed ash from my fingertips. The trees
were blooming lavishly that year.

Someone is Always Missing

Like that red fox, black-tipped tail long as its body, flashing across
the dirt road, I might believe you have just stepped away from your


Unknown caller, my phone blinks, and I answer anyway. Hello?
I repeat, into the open line–



Kathleen McGookey’s latest book of prose poems, Heart in a Jar, was published last April by White Pine Press. Her work has recently appeared in Columbia Poetry Review, december, Field, KYSO Flash, Quiddity, and Waxwing.

 … return to Issue 11.2 Table of Contents.