Issue #2 | ,

Dear James Whale

I must have peace and this is the only way

–suicide note


A question of creation: your discovery

            was ours and ours

to despise. Its cries were ours, its fear

            of burning. You understood


how ugly we think we are. If you recognized

            eternal life could hold

eternal pain, I cannot blame you for

            covering your eyes


or leaving them open, looking up toward

            a watery sun

while everything blurred and reverted

            to black and white.


In a pitched cemetery, we topple stones

            and trees. We secret

ourselves among our criminal dead. Truth is,

            we prefer the ground.

Ruth Foley lives in Massachusetts, where she teaches English for Wheaton College. Her work appears in numerous web and print journals, including Adroit, Sou’wester, Threepenny Review, and Valparaiso Poetry Review. Her poems can also be found in several anthologies, including the Best Indie Lit New England anthology. She is the author of the chapbooks Sink and …

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