Zackary Jarrell

A letter from mucous

“We do not stop playing because we grow
            old; we grow old because we stop playing.
    —George Bernard Shaw

to a suckle and swish
of a crushed pea
or bean. Wrap

the rope of the wagon over your knuckles twice. Ignore
the dust in the cracks

you didn't know you 
had. Patti will take you 
home if your grip fails—her cold concrete

blockhouse is not fit for failures. Auntie has a big, swollen
bottom lip and still
lives. She fell            

     or was pushed down
a flight. The dwelling has a scent
half rot, half must. You turn
                 brown to blue

as you cover it with a sodden
cloth. A desperate
letter addressed to the lost

buggy, begging for its return. You board
and cower in the corner  

of the bed. You hang till you can build one
of your own. Four wooden wheels  

turn over themselves as new
passengers join. Pick up

botany and learn
to paint the plant’s pastels
to pass the time. Hire a tailor

to weave the time you’ve spent
into a coat. To carry 

years, not wear them.
To wear years, not carry them. Paint begins

to crumble off
your dense siding. You can feel it slide

under and lightly prick your fingertips
when your palm grazes it as you walk by. Echoes of a voice

linger here and pool to ankle-height. A bird in the yard
            by the shed steals feed from the deer with a mocking chirp. Your rims            

won’t make many more revolutions, but you can
be proud of the ground
you’ve covered, the field
you chose to lie in.

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Zackary Jarrell is a Junior at Salisbury University majoring in English with a concentration in Creative Writing. He is the former vice president and current B-Team Captain of the Salisbury University Ultimate Frisbee Club. He has poetry published in his school’s literary magazine, The Scarab and is an advisor of 149review. He was born in Christiana, Delaware and grew up in Elkton, Maryland.