Bradley K Meyer
Summer 2025 | Poetry
I survived the war by having been born long after it
My apartment is at the top of a road called the Andreevsky Descent. Whichever way I go, it is a descent. The ice rink at the bottom is frozen at a slight incline and goes from one side, I hate this a lot, to the other, I like this a lot, in a cycle that ends when I’m tired of it. A snow hill of beginningless weakness. The difference between image, I dream, and likeness, of pulling things out of my mouth. A cobweb, a wire brush, an unraveling. It isn’t so long ago, but of course there would be museums about it. Brightly lit rooms with nothing in them. I go to L’s house. Rooms with plenty in them. We talk to one another like we’re drinking from a cup. Conversation smoothed with hands. Then, goodbye, which we each wear a little differently. I’m tired of this feeling. Back up the hill. Snow touches my face and hands without any end or beginning.
Bradley K Meyer writes from Tbilisi, Georgia. Recent work has appeared in Biscuit Hill, BRUISER, Muleskinner and Right Hand Pointing. He teaches English.