NORTHEAST OHIO SPOTLIGHT

The Eyes of the Squirrel

Poetry by Lucas Jorgensen

​One morning you told me we could rent a car
& search for dead so fresh they’d yet to be anointed
 
by flies. Sometimes, you said, in the belly
there’s a baby waiting to be saved. Sometimes
 
you just want a small piece to stitch yourself to.
So far, the strips of chemical paper & piss
 
have divined a blessing. No small tragedy
blooms a nylon line around us yet, despite
 
all summer, skin to skin, how we bred
responsibility out of our bed. I crave
 
a little risk. Like years ago, with gasoline
I set fire to a cage of sticks. The flames spread
 
their palms, first outward from the center,
then skyward, to the lowest branches. I had
 
no choice but to smother their enlightenment.
The next morning, my mother surveyed
 
my damage & discovered a pup, small & pink,
an uncooked kidney bean nestled on a leaf.
 
For six days she kept it warm between
her breasts, fed it buttermilk from a dropper,
 
cut an egg carton into a crib to keep on her
nightstand while she slept. On the seventh day,
 
my mother wept. Its eyes wouldn’t open.
It was hopeless. I didn’t know you yet.
​

Lucas Jorgensen

Lucas Jorgensen is a poet and educator from Cleveland, Ohio. He holds an MFA from New York University where he was a Goldwater Fellow. Currently, he is a Ph.D. candidate at the University of North Texas and reads poetry for The Iowa Review and American Literary Review. His work has appeared in or is forthcoming from The Massachusetts Review, Pleiades, Fugue, Poet Lore, and others. You can find him at lucasjorgensen.org.