He spent years under Oklahoma
stones. Even after washed and
dried, his shirt held their incense.
When building chimneys, the odor
of wet mortar settled into his beard.
Portland dust fertilized his boots
with city-germinating aroma—
skyscrapers and sidewalks come
from this dust and will return to it.
After a rain, the New York City
pavement composed him, yesterday,
in his son’s memory.
Stone or concrete perfumes him
into existence, out of thin air,
for his descendants. Anywhere.
—About the Author—
Kyle Erickson was born in Grove, Oklahoma, and lives in Astoria, NY. His poems have been published in This Land Press, Poetry Crush, Promethia, and translated by Ernesto Espinoza for Cìrculo de Poesìa. Find more of his writings at www.okieinthecity.com.