In the Swamp at Night

[Jamie Hogan]

In the swamp at night I hear old, long sounds and they ache in the air and I tuck my fears in the folds of my sleeping bag and stare out of the slit in the tent door at the flickering remnants of the fire like it is the only hope that the world still turns and wonder what warped misanthrope could possibly make a noise like that.

 

In the swamp at night, big-eyed and quickened, I remember things that never happened to me and I decide that something else’s dreams must be caught in the moping, moss-strewn branches above, dripping down into my mind and poisoning the years preserved there.

 

And sleep is a gold ring at the bottom of the ocean, a coal-haired girl on a Tahitian beach, a rock on Fra Mauro, a strange thing I can not know.

 

You reach your little Carolina hand over to my forehead and brush my hair and whisper “Can you sleep?” and I breathe “No” and think ‘why are we talking like we’re swapping nuclear secrets?’

 

I feel you squirm closer and begin to wind around, a supple vine intent on sweetly suffocating me, and the last of the fire succumbs to the wet swamp night.

[Angela]

The "old, long sounds that ache in the air" made me feel the kind of heavy presence one can sometimes encounter in the woods.  I love the scary mixed with the comforting "supple vine".  It is always a joy to read your work.

[Stephen Torelli]

It's been a while since I've spent lonesome nights in the Carolinas, yet you've brought back the memories, crickets and all. Excellent work, Jamie.

[Joey Delgado]

'...a supple vine intent on sweetly suffocating me...' Your prose is just pure beauty. I love this line particularly because love is to be suffocated, but not care as long as it's that one person doing the suffocating. Well done. :)

[Paul de Denus]

Line 2 is. I can't think of how to describe. Everything else too- your writing has that wordless quality and I mean that in a good way:)