Three Miles from Chippewa Lake

Three Miles from Chippewa Lake

In cigar boxes I keep all
your letters. The archive reads, Even if you do not
inhale, and I am reminded not to look beyond my life
for a response. Attached to one letter is the red

bracelet I wore when you took me home
from the hospital and in another is a couple
of ticket stubs to a small theatre that still sends me e-mails
promising more evenings I can never forget. The smell

of smoke-rot and old glue returns me
to a night spent by the side of an unused barn.
I’d count every star before leaving you
with the smoldering crowd. One hundred twenty-two,
I said, and you kissed my neck, -sixty-four, and you
killed the light. Two hundred, and the sky was a bed
of candles reaching out in an ash-washed glow.

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Jeremy Rock is from Frederick, Maryland, and is currently a student at Salisbury University. He is an AWP Intro Journal Award nominee who has work published or forthcoming in The Shore, The Scarab, The Tuscarora Review, and elsewhere.

Photo Credit: Logan Tozzi, New Mexico Review Staff