It is hard to believe we will die,
despite the weight of evidence,
that all this will cease to matter--
poems and rain, slicing a watermelon
in June and eating the juicy
meat seeds and all.
All of this— angels are in the room,
I tell you, holding your arm,
my face pressed close to yours.
Brady Peterson lives near Belton, Texas where for much of the past twenty-nine years he worked building homes and teaching rhetoric. His poems have appeared in New Texas, Windhover, Nerve Cowboy, Boston Literary Magazine, Heartlodge, The Journal of Military Experience, Texas Poetry Calendar, Enigmatist, all roads will lead you home, Blue Hole, The Good Men Project and San Antonio Express-News. He has published a chapbook, Glued to the Earth and a full length volume of poetry, Between Stations.