Fat Days

Chris Emery

Everything new was dead.
Poured into the sink.
Weather inverted.
Mouse music. Then there
came the terriblenoon we heard could kill.
Its hours reached up to
us inside this kind
of knowledge like a
carpet. Everyoneloved its fractious hair,
its tawny pressure
under foot. But time
was the master now.
We shaved to meet it.Ate birds to park its
leisure in the tips
of gladioli.
Cycled to its grand
apiaries and vistas.The cream days crept by.
Dresses filled like lungs.
This was our terror:
perched inside shadeless
ministries, we grew.

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Chris Emery has published three collections of poetry, as well as a writer’s guide, an anthology of art and poems, and pocket editions of Emily Brontë, Keats, and Rossetti. His work has been widely published in magazines and anthologised. He lives in Cromer, North Norfolk, with his wife and children.


Issue 11

Louisville, Kentucky

Editors: Kiki Petrosino, Dan Rosenberg

Transom is published each spring and fall. A transom is the bar of wood that separates a door from the window above it. What comes over the transom is lobbed, has grace, arcs in.

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