Poem by Jon Berger

"Inside The Milk Jug Igloo" © Edward S. Gault


A Steel Frame that can Fly

How I Climb trees is
With legs
And branches
Migration of island sand
Head to look
Until I see those hills of Duluth

Because North
Baptizes in

earned shoulders (heaving)
Lifting what they tell me to
a trail to drive
with dirt to scrounge
how I pay to eat my dinner.

I grew up to be a Landscaper
made of cobras
From showing up
And you can’t go where I can
Because wherever I go-
I am.

You’re one arm and then the other
I remember
Hugged me around
In the all-night diner
The nails of running fingers
Flowing through the back of my skull
I hadn’t had that yet

We were at the strip club
And a Geo Tracker hit a fire hydrant
And plastic spewed across the street
And I had just found out that you had
Door-knocker nipple piercings.

you came back between semesters
Acting like I’m not in town
I know
Sometimes I can’t be found

Sometimes I just drive around

Stoned and scared of
When the approaching traffic lights
Turn the color red
And all I know is go go go
And that is how there are such things as leather
looking for something else to turn into my heart.
And one moment at a time is
left behind
like a rusted brute
Sailing on wind.
From mountains
With propellers
That are rolled down
flights of rocks

keep being a spring morning and wake me singing,
looking for the best way to breath air


“Inside The Milk Jug Igloo” © Edward S. Gault


Jon Berger lives in Saginaw, Michigan. He has been published at Five 2 One Magazine.

Edward S. Gault is a poet and fine art photographer. He lives at Mosaic Commons, a co-housing community in Berlin, Ma. He has a wife Karen, and daughter.