Liz Dosta
Inside the Room of the Room of John Wayne
A small fire burns.
A red square inside a red square
behind a blue door. A blue
vase cracks. Slowly, water leaks out.
Sometimes, it becomes too dark and one must lean
the blue horse against a field of poppies.
John goes missing from John's thoughts, though
he keeps his wig inside him.
His wig the burned down house he wears,
on a head made of water.
It is blue smoke through a row of redwoods,
fists of raindrops opening.
What love cannot tell us,
when the blue room invades.
Liz Dosta’s work has appeared in Pank, Two Serious Ladies, and The Atlas Review, among other journals. She lives in Brooklyn, New York.
More from Vol. 34, Issue 1
Review of Linda Russo's To Think of Her Writing Awash In Light
MC Hyland and Becca Klaver
In a room not far from the racetrack // ... // Prostitute at Career Day Q & A
Tomas Tranströmer, trans. Kelly Nelson
Review of Bruce Bond's For the Lost Cathedral
Andrew S. Nicholson
Today, a Judgment
Francisco Urondo, trans. Julia Leverone
Sibyl—Poem in Eight Syllables
Anja Utler, trans. Dani DiCenzo
Ode to Taxidermy
Heather Bowlan
Inside the Room of the Room of John Wayne
Liz Dosta
Introduction // Sentences // Secret Message
Norman Finkelstein
from the Book of Minutes
Gemma Gorga, trans. Sharon Dolin
Achilles Mourning the Death of Patroclus // Lore
Eryn Green