by Jessica L. Walsh

The string of things I haven’t done could reach
from here to every place I’ve never been:
New York, Golden Corral, an orgy, Rome.

They say that’s a bucket list. My great-grandfather
worked his neighbors’ farms to keep his own,
carrying the tin lunch pail that’s now on my shelf.

Some days he probably swung it empty from dark to dark
hoping someone could toss in day-old bread or a nickel.
My guess is he would be awed by all we have. Or mad at what he didn’t.

My dad griped that we barely had a pot to piss in, but barely
does a lot there. We had a pot to piss in, I’m saying, even Pizza Hut
on paydays, a quarter for Pac-Man if we were good and lucky.

Ain’t no hole in the washtub, sang my mom,
and she was right, though there was once a hole in the back room ceiling
that filled the chili pot when it rained hard and long.

So I’ve never been to Brazil but I’ve never gone hungry,
always had bread, bologna, a coffee can full of grease
way at the back of the fridge, second shelf.

I think I’d like to finish my life with whatever it takes to endure it.
Beyond that, I don’t know. The smell of his pillow. A dog.
Maybe a vodka to close it out. Enough.

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Jessica L. Walsh is the author of Book of Gods and Grudges (Glass Lyre, 2022) as well as two previous collections. Her poetry has appeared in Guesthouse, Lunch Ticket, Crab Creek Review, and more. A nominee for the Pushcart Prize, Best New Poets, and Best of the Net, her work has also been featured on the Best American Poetry website. A native of small-town Michigan, she lives outside of Chicago and teaches at a community college.

by Jessica L. Walsh

The ratio of tributes to handshakes
tipped earlier than we’d imagined

At times we say remind me
and the list of what happened

is the list of all we loved

the lake the lake the river

a Ford truck
on gravel or mud
on open road with deer
or wild turkey with Wild Turkey

the lying frozen lake

the rip-currented outlet to the lake

When it’s Oxy or tar we say sickness
and talk about times we drank with them
at bonfires by the lake
or flying down dirt roads in the back of a pick-up

What we don’t say is we could all be here
every one

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Jessica L. Walsh is the author of two poetry collections, most recently The List of Last Tries, as well as two chapbooks. Her poetry can be found in Tinderbox, RHINO, Stirring, and elsewhere. She teaches at a community college outside of Chicago, where she lives with her family.