4 April 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 1
Sun
And as you stumble out of the bar into tequila dawn
and the cacti are tipped with fine sharp frost
and the sand is cold under the dark of your shoes
and you were told ever since you could walk
never to look directly at the sun
but you do
you stand on the rocks and do
and you were told you would go blind
except for a burning disk
in the center of all the darkness
and you pretend you have never been here before
but through all your denials you have returned
and in the receding cold of today you are sweating
your hair is very long you are not very old
and at that one time when you decided
to change your life you really did
you fell in love and never came back
About the author:
Kevin Conder lives in Portland, Oregon with his wife, baby daughter, and a Jack Russell Terrier. He is the author of two books: The Yellow Earth and, the, as yet, unpublished memoir, The Rock Star. His poetry has appeared/will appear in several literary magazines, such as Pedestal Magazine, North American Review, Snow Monkey, and the Pacific Review. Among other jobs, he has taught English to a variety of students from China, Yugoslavia, and Russia while living in Stockholm, Sweden. Kevin holds a BA in Philosophy from UCSB and a MFA in creative writing from the University of Arizona.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Kevin Conder at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 5, No. 1, where "Sun" ran on April 4, 2005. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
