The Fold
My son has named his recurring nightmare La Mano Blanca though he refuses to tell me its story. If he keeps it to himself, he believes the dream will one night lose its footing as it climbs the cliff face of his sleep and plummet down a forever crevasse. As a whale’s corpse sinks, it offers its body to animals of each depth. Sharks at the surface tear the skin. Floor dwellers portion the bones. Online I look up the front page of my hometown paper the day I was born. Above the fold—New View of Earth. Below, a photo captioned, Vietnamese girl runs in agony after ripping off her clothes burning with napalm.
Jason Gebhardt's poems have appeared in many journals, including the The Southern Review, Poet Lore, Tinderbox Poetry Journal, and Tar River Poetry. His chapbook Good Housekeeping won the 2016 Cathy Smith Bowers Prize and he is the recipient of multiple Artist Fellowships from DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities. He lives in Washington, DC with his wife and three children and works as a preschool teacher.