Salvation Hill |
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Salvation Hill

I never knew why you waxed gravestones.
I remember you young with pigtails.

Then it started raining in the middle of August
And everything that could scream was steaming.
The wax melts, and looks like tears.

You never got around to the Veterans Cemetery,
Salvation Hill.
They all died with tears in their eyes
Thoughts of home in their heads.
(I’m not sure of the jurisdiction
Regarding graveyards for patriots,
But they probably thought of the same fields
You drove past to school every day.)

Up on Salvation Hill
They don’t need your saving.
God’s got to do something,
After ignoring you in Catholic school
All those years.

When heroin attacks your brain
The eyes bulge and tear ducts are choked.
This leads to watering eyes, but it’s not crying.
That’s an important distinction.

I’ll go down to my firepit,
Melt a dozen yankee candles,
(Vanilla, something universal,
Your preferences have been
Evading me, and even your face
Has left me it seems.)
Paint the tears you were cheated of,
After every summer rain.


Pete Koz is poet from small town Wisconsin. He spends his time toeing a happy medium with the northwoods. His work has previously been published in The Midwest Review and Oracle Bone.


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