Blue Bonnet Review

A Literary Journal Featuring Poetry, Fiction and Nonfiction by Talented Writers Around the Globe

A literary journal featuring poetry, fiction and nonfiction by writers around the globe. 


Jim Zola

If you summon it by the right word, by its right name, it will come. – Kafka

Today is the first day
of sun in a week. I'm blinded
as I walk out my front door,
stumble on the steps that lead
to my other life.

There I’m a sailor with gold
in my ear. There I’m made
of paper and fly.
There I linger
until the alphabet
of our passions defines us.

When Columbus sailed
over the edge, birds searched for names.
Corvus brachyrhynchos flops.
Cyanocitta cristata screams
jee ah jee ah. Columbus fell.

Weeding my flower bed,
I think of Empress Dowager
Cixi on her walks to the garden.
Servants dove under the pond to hook
her fishing line with koi.
If her scowl was deep enough,
jewelry was the catch.

I’m not a fisherman.
My son thinks to fish means to slump
on a muddy bank eating slices
of baloney.

But once
when we found a farmer’s pond
beyond the swiss-cheese no
trespassing signs, each time
he dropped his line, a tiny
painted turtle tugged. Halfway up,
the turtle let go. Again and
again they played this scene
until our laughter spread out
past noxious weeds into fields
to stun the lull of just
waking cows.

My daughter is a hugger.
I take out the trash and when
I come back she greets me
like I’ve been gone for days.

Why do we eschew sentiment?
I love my daughter’s signs of love.

The racket rises from trees
behind my house.
I pity

the hidden owl. Crows mock
from low branches and later
snack on beetle grubs in lawn
sod, or pull the liver
from road-kill squirrel.

I’m told they mate for life.

My wife and children fly
into the sky without me.