Joy Christine Hast

Who is my father to me? Old Chevy truck, jumbled toolbox, Knicks and knacks, garage full of sawdust. Peanut shells on the floor and shelves —endless Pringle cans of bent nails. Empty hook

The world under a bluish-gray blanket Lies quiet and still as a child caught reading. She listens to the shudder of semi-trucks and mufflers Like a father’s obnoxious snoring. Bulbs glow ghostly

I'm a blue jeans kinda girl Not the bull ridin’, dust flyin’ rodeo, But the small town is my hometown, room to grow. I’m a ponytail every day kinda girl Not the

There are two birds That always fly together In the sky, Singing, laughing, and sharing life. We were they. Until one day You fell away. Left alone, I began to regret All the

The earth trembled. The sky blackened. “Defeat,” demons whispered. He— The Son of God, The Light of Man— Gone out. Satan’s laughter Echoes under Jerusalem’s streets. God’s wrath rumbles in

Listen. Hose, hats, heels click along cement sidewalks–– The city echoes with the punctuated remark. Or is that the harmony of guns cocked in war? Germany desires to settle its score. Keys clack

Heart beating fast Life flashing past Road leeching last Just breathe Uproot my roots like some old elm tree Looking for somewhere new to cast my boundary Pulling through and pushing past the