gold under the stark Idaho sun; the salt river
that runs in your veins; each halting quiver
of cigarette air you crave; yarrow, the thin leaves,
the white flower that stems your blood from daily
wounding; the soft sleeping bag that keeps you warm;
the lick of guitar strings thrumming into songs born
from mind to mouth to calloused fingers. Rarely
I see you, my red, limber, prowling
wolf. You stalk the night, ramble among the pines
searching for paradise in hidden, teal lakes.
If the columbine’s scarlet blooms could hear my howling,
and whisper in your slumbering ear my pining,
would you rise out of your den and pad back east?
Welcome to Problem Child
Problem Child offers an alternative medium for publication of poetry, prose, artwork, essays, and other creative media by semi-annually publishing the Problem Child Literary Magazine. Problem Child aims to publish and promote individual original thought by creating and hosting a creative community.