2 poems

by Jared Povanda

Space Tastes of Raspberries and Smells Like Rum

The baker tells the viewers at home

all about this tiny miracle:

that science is prone to breaking 

minds like hot sugared glass

from sudden cold. 

That when he has to start over and

shards go in the bin,

he’s still left with raspberries halved 

and fragrant in the dark.

Trillions of drunk stars.

The Intimations of Songbirds 

He wakes to birdsong. Cheeps like spoons 

hinting secrets against weak porcelain.

He wakes to woodsmoke, even though

his fire has been banked for hours;

he’s not the one burning.

The stars are still out, gasping without sound—

and he’s glad he isn’t the one out of breath.

He tries to catch sight of a bird in the trees, 

a flash of sapphire or ruby as he walks,

but he doesn’t have any luck.

By the time he spreads her ashes 

in the river, eddies swirling

the dawn 

empties of everything but 

soft music in the air. 

Jared Povanda is a writer, poet, and freelance editor from upstate New York. He has been nominated for Best of the Net and Best Microfiction, and his writing can be found in Cheap Pop, HAD, and Pidgeonholes, among many others. Find him @JaredPovanda, jaredpovandawriting.wordpress.com, and in the Poets & Writers Directory.