Three Poems by A.J. Huffman

from Ripples this Reflection

My wrist flicks.  Stone            skips                three

times before  

          sinking,

disappearing into black oblivion of water’s registry.

I make a mental note of its passing, its lack of need

for pretentious ceremony.  I wait a moment longer to see

if wind or wing will rise to offer eulogy,

but the world has chosen this moment

to hold its breath.  The eloquence of silence

stands as tombstone, resonating louder than lightning,

an audience rising in applause.

My Brain is Dead

and I am suffocating

on the smell of sympathy

lilies.  White as ghosts,

they stand in defiance to my own

breath, as if the rest of me has suddenly become

a coffin carrying the corpses of thought

into a purgatory of mindless motion,

an afterlife of light bulbs burnt out.

Toes in the Wind

Baby girl waits for greyhounds to emerge,

feet swinging over railing as she holds on

to supportive hands holding her.  She giggles

excitedly as the eight graceful gallopers are paraded

before the crowd, waves her arms in support

of her fast and furious friends.  She knows

nothing of protests or controversy of animals

raised to race as sport.  Her eight-month-old eyes

only see freedom found by four paws pacing four more,

running, streamline away from the sun.

A.J. Huffman has published nine solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses.  She also has two new full-length poetry collections forthcoming: Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press) and A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing).  She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, haiku and photography have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya.  She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press.  www.kindofahurricanepress.com