Two Poems

by Dalton Day


In the future, I am certain things
will remain mostly the same. We’ll walk to the
mountains with tiny bottles in our pockets.
If you make it through the next decade or so,
you’ll be fine. A woman on fire told me that,
and I swear, she is happy. At the top of the mountain,
we’ll realize that we don’t know all the words to
any of the same songs. “Or so” takes such a small
amount of time to say, and I am thrilled by this.
Did you bring a boat? Did you bring a river?
It will not be necessary to become a thief. Look,
your heart is strong as hell, and half as scary.
“Scary” is not so. I said that in the future, I am certain.
We’ll use the dark as it was meant to be used,
perfectly. Take my picture. I’ll never be as I am now,
again. My house is routinely demolished by light.
And before you ask, yes. I’m getting carried away.

Figure This Out

A harpoon made out of jawbone
is shot towards the sun.
I know, a very naive gesture. But why?

One: a harpoon constructed out of jawbone
is notoriously weak. It will
break the second it touches the sun’s

rough shell. Two: I’ve just bought
a bag of plums. I’m going to surprise you

with them. We will eat them
because it is warm and everything is

stranded with light. Three: I have yet to shoot
a harpoon made out of jawbone
towards the sun. I’m naive. This is why.

Dalton Day is a poet out of Asheville, North Carolina. He received his B.A. in Literature & Language from the University of North Carolina Asheville, where he was awarded the 2012 Topp/Grillot Poetry Prize. Currently, he is an editor for FreezeRay Poetry, and can be found at

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