(not quite) a literary journal


3 poems by Will Rocha

will rocha 1.jpg

Like the Yucca and the Dog

I am a yucca
plant me, use me
Pull my roots, rip me up, split me
Like hairs, weave me together,
Make me somethin’ else

I am somethin’ else today
So hit me, slap me, chain me
To the tree, then take me out back
Shoot me like the sick dog

I am the dog,
howling to you
In the black night, I will find you,
Chew you up, spit you up, leave you
In the field, except a bone to take home

I am your home,
I will invite you inside,
Wash you good, scrub you clean
Wipe you down with my dirty towels,
Leave you out,
High and dry

Winter Comes to Purgatory Creek

Days like these are cold and melting,
Like ice cubes spilling through burning hands,
Nature slowly turns over into its grave,
As a hiss echoes through hollow bark,
The wind carries the sound
Like background singers,
Swaying and moaning.

The black snake comes with a chill
Dark begins penetrating light
The stone, grey cactus wallow
At the feet of their still
Living kin, rotten trees
Lean over to me, whisper of
Where the sun may go next
But the darkness knocks to interrupt

Moss stands on tree limbs,
Eager to join the bodies that pass, stuck
In time like ghost towns
Overgrown grass pressed flat to become ground,
The black snake still winds,
With a long trail thick and serpentine.

It leaves my feelings cold,
And barren, but there are fumes of mania
And heavy breathing warming my face
Animal remains cover the winding path
How dreadful to see their spirits walk,
But how beautiful it is to know the seasons,
New life will come, even if death always follows.

My Lullaby, My Aubade

The full moon spills
Its light like milk
On me and you. I feel the grass
Cold like silk. I feel you,
Warm, soft, and still.

The hot sun breaks
Into our tent
To tell me it is morning.
I awake to your eyes
They are like morning ponds
Hazy, green, and still.
My algal bloom.

will rocha 2.jpg
Tip Jar