I spent my childhood in a cave, outside glowing snow, inside Byzantine paintings,ceiling bats, everything drawn like a breath. When I wanted to leave, I lit myself on fire; it didn’t hurt—I listened to the flames the way an owl listens to air currents; I was ash in the wide sky.Musty bison on cave walls dream vast grasslands, but listen: I was in the cave, and thenI was everywhere.
Copyright © 2019 by Lindsay Remee Ahl.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.
The Southern Review is one of the nation’s premiere literary journals. Hailed by Time as “superior to any other journal in the English language,” we have made literary history since our founding in 1935. We publish a diverse array of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry by the country’s—and the world’s—most respected contemporary writers.
“The Southern Review … represents everything that is good in the world of literary publication. Their dedication to aesthetic quality has been the gold standard in literary publication for over seventy-five years.”
—James Lee Burke
“A leading literary quarterly.”
—The New York Times