about the author

Adam Day is the recipient of a 2010 Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship. His work has appeared in the Boston Review, Forklift: Ohio, American Poetry Review, Guernica, BOMB, Verse Daily, AGNI, The Iowa Review, and elsewhere. Poems have also been nominated for 2008 and 2009 Pushcart Prizes, and included in Best New Poets 2008. He is the recipient of a Kentucky Arts Council grant, and coordinates the Baltic Writing Residency in Latvia.


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The Revolution

Adam Day



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The signal was a little girl’s raised
gloved hand to her red hair. So, it spread
along the rye fields, through the alfalfa
and dusty roads to our homes like birds
barking in the hollow of the hills. We were
rebels; or when generals were killed,
the generals. Sometimes the military
were better rebels. We were the products
of our own ideas; being rough
is a game. Unseen loudspeakers drowned
protest in canned laughter and waltzes. Men
patched wounded women; like pregnancy
it was an unfair competition. Captured
or capturing, condemnation followed
upon execution. What’s lovely about war
is its devotion to thoroughness
and order. It keeps count. At the end
we got down and tasted the forest
floor, holding the place where someone
was before, stood in dead shoes,
understanding the mathematics of it, the finite
sets of odd cardinality, below the pirated
nest of a titmouse and eight pink-white eggs.





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