Matthew Toth

heliotropism

hurricanes happen, a love like this doesn’t. acknowledged master of moth
business, your misery without holes in the lid— on my way to the office
in the valley for the last time, a fog so dense i can’t see suicide
bridge or any bird. i pull a dead lady bug from my dog’s mouth. mother
to no son but some swatch of moon, good ones know their orbit and nothing else.
on company time i stayed alive until markets were just buzzing groves of bells.
as you shave my neck in the hotel mirror, you tell me to find a spot to bury that jar
there will be, tomorrow, another sky to poke holes in: even behind purple clouds of war.

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Matthew Toth is a writer and editor from Pasadena, California. As a creative writing student at Kenyon College, Matthew has worked with Sunset Press and the Kenyon Review. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming in One Art: a journal of poetry, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, Lunch Ticket, Vagabond City Lit and Exposed Bone. @matthewtoth_ on Instagram