Rock of Ages, Pencil Sketch, Picture 59 As if buckshot blew a hole in the side of an Ozark hill he once called home, the pencil patient artist of State Hospital #3 left a wound gripping the rock of his mountain, spraying green spruces grown in shale, lime and sandstone, mortared by bones of the dead bedded in hot springs up the side of his discarded invoice canvas, ROCK OF AGES #59 penciled over a reminder to pay promptly as required by law on an otherwise empty page. I see him, a boy running these hills standing in his pew at his father’s church to sing let me hide myself in thee with nowhere to hide, helpless against his father’s fists his father’s name on a dotted line remanding him to this place, as empty of grace as the columns of debits and credits printed on his medium, double sins of difference and indifference in the shattered Rock of Ages. Janet Reed Janet Reed is guest editor of I-70 Review, author of Blue Exhaust (FLP, 2019), and a multi-year Pushcart Prize nominee. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Sow’s Ear Review, Ellipsis, Tipton Poetry Journal, and others. She began writing knock-off Nancy Drew stories on wide-lined notebook paper at age 11 and now teaches writing and literature for Crowder College in Missouri.
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October 2024
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