Thursday, 8 December 2011

A.g. Synclair

December in Three Parts


Just east of the Gallatin, we cling to little nuggets of time. A bone in the ear reminds us that Christmas will be different this year, spending money we don't have on whiskey we shouldn't drink.


Outside the kitchen window two sparrows fought to the death. A few broken quills and a dying declaration that there is no god, from two young sparrows, dead, in a tangle of frozen leaves. You try to imagine why they fought. Probably over another sparrow. I suppose love is hard, even for a bird.


There is a story behind everything. Behind boulders. Behind stars. Behind endless miles of fence posts. The men here smell like fish. The women here live in the space in between. We are all once removed from small degrees of separation, from the Bridgers, from the Big Sky and beyond. The natives saw you coming from a thousand miles away. They are desperados. They know how you tore your shirt.

A.g. Synclair is the editor and publisher of The Montucky Review, a journal of poetry & prose. His work has appeared in numerous web based and print publications. He lives, writes, and collaborates in southwestern Montana with his significant other, the artist and poet Heather Brager.

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