| Poetry, Visual Art

Good Luck

James Miller

The priest sat
next to me
on the plane
to Rapid City.

He was suffering.
Flushed cheeks, clenched
jowls. His ziplocked ice
had mostly melted
by the time
we left
the tarmac.

he held
that coolness
in his right hand.
his forehead
so that
one would

At baggage
claim, the priest
lifted his
dark weight
to the carpet.

As he rolled
away, dazed,
I called out
good luck.

By which
I meant:
may your
and feed

James Miller

is a Texas Gulf coast native. He won the Connecticut Poet Award in 2020. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Cold Mountain Review, The Maine Review, Lunch Ticket, The Atlanta Review, Thin Air, A Minor, Typehouse, Eclectica, Rabid Oak, pioneertown, Juked, North Dakota Quarterly, Yemassee, Mantis and elsewhere.

ART: Saint of the Abandoned Flour Mill by Zev Labinger

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