William Durham

Going Home for Winter

When laughing and dancing aren’t the vibe
men will still find a way to combine talents.
Fortunate or not, the way the world works
is often tragic and immediate. I miss the air
in your room. Cleaning in the gym after practice
made the glass fog. All the mirrors evaporating.
At night there’s a boat that cleans the ocean water
one cup at a time. There are two men on board.
One steering, and one in the brig. Always one
thinking about the other. On shore a young woman
looks for fish. Seeing none, she calls you,
pretending to have made a mistake. Actually,
there is one thing…
The moon gives you powers and you use them constantly.

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William Durham is a writer from Texas. He holds an MFA from the University of Washington, and his recent work has appeared in Antigonish, THRUSH, RHINO, and elsewhere. He teaches in Seattle.