John Kaprielian


Windows thrown open
room filled with sun
and crackly autumn air
that finally blows the last
of the summer sweat
from the house

Blue jays call and I
throw myself upon
the giant sea of my parents’
bed listening to the reedy
squeak of the clothesline
pulley as my mother
hangs clothes that flutter
like prayer flags in the breeze

It feels like Heaven
this time before I ever
knew anything of loss
before death even existed
and everything was wonder

The clothes are hung
Pixie is curled
in a patch of sun
I smell the manti
cooking downstairs
and then-

-the rest of my life.

In Over My Head

A momentary loss of balance
sent me off the dock into
water well over my head it
was all so slow yet over in an
instant I remember sinking
into the weeds that wrapped
their tendrils around my
feet anguished shouting made
me look up at the silvered
undersurface of the water and
I saw myself standing there
among the fishes green
and drowned like a child
zombie I was not dead but
it felt like I would be soon
then before I had a chance to
fully grasp my predicament
a hand reached through the
watery mirror and pulled
me back into the real world
where time flowed quickly
and I could breathe again but
I have never forgotten my
brief lifetime as a fish.

John Kaprielian has been worked as a natural history photo editor for over three decades, and has been writing poetry for more than thirty-five years; in 2012 he challenged himself to write a poem a day for a year and in 2013 published them in a single volume, 366 Poems: My Year in Verse. He has had poems published on The Five-Two Poetry Blog, The New Verse News, Down in the Dirt Magazine, The Blue Mountain Review, The Blue Nib, and Minute Magazine. His poetry ranges in subject matter from the natural world to current events and politics to introspective and philosophical themes. He lives in Putnam County, New York with his wife, son and assorted pets.