Two Pieces
Devon Neal
Snowball Bush
The snowball bush, packing snow grains
into fists along the porch edge and the stairs,
was dug up once the house grew quiet
and carried in the back of an old gray truck.
Now it stands in our front yard by the window
as kid feet thunder inside, generations powdering
from darkened clouds, gathering us together,
molding us and our memories
the shape of time, the shape of family.
All Your Blooms
After the billboard for a local floral shop that read, “Plant One On Me”
There is something a little bit more between us,
like a humid day, cragged with thunderclouds,
all rain and electricity, a tingling in the soil,
a greenhouse heat, a hushed wind,
something fingernail-sized shooting sprouts
of life between stone scales and dirt brushes.
If in these perfect conditions between your skin
and my lips, stalks raised, flowers burst,
I would cover your every inch in this living confetti
and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Devon Neal (he/him) is a Kentucky-based poet whose work has appeared in many publications, including HAD, Stanchion, Livina Press, The Storms, and The Bombay Lit Mag, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He currently lives in Bardstown, KY with his wife and three children.