The Next Day

By PETER FILKINS

bird song laced the particulate air 
wind emptied the pines of their whistle 
a cloud roamed aimless arriving somewhere 
the creek lapped away at its trestles 

church bells dormant hung in their towers 
avenues basked in the neutral light 
clock hands frozen implored the heavens 
train tracks departed for nowhere on time 

far off the mountains shed their glaciers 
while farther yet the tides churned on 
beneath a night sky punctured by stars 
before the mute rise of another full moon

 

Peter Filkins has published five collections of poetry, most recently Water / Music. The recipient of Guggenheim, Fulbright, and NEH Public Scholars awards, he is at work on a biography of Ingeborg Bachmann for Yale University Press.

 

[Purchase Issue 32 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

The Next Day

Related Posts

Everything Has to Work: Michael Costaris interviews Sigrid Nunez

SIGRID NUNEZ
Everything has to work, and whatever ending there is, it should strike the reader as inevitable. So yes, it is harder to write short fiction. Of course, plenty of writers are capable of producing at least one beauty. But the kind of writer who can produce one fine story after another—that’s definitely a rarer breed than your usual good novelist.

Headshot of bergita bugarija

In the Know

BERGITA BUGARIJA
Iskra studied the layout of the cash drawer, focusing on the denominations, not the men depicted on the bills. If she cared for history, she would have stayed in Croatia, a place where people chose to live in the past. She’d come close to doing so herself.

Lucky Magarac Killing It

ADMIR SKODO
My first name is Lazar. My last name is Magarac. Back home it means “donkey.” Here it means nothing except the last name of Lucky, which means, luckily, no jokes of how I’m donkey this, donkey that.