On Eero Järnefelt’s Under the Yoke (Burning the Brushwood) When I cough, I cough up eyes sometimes. Beautiful eyes. Eyes that you want to keep. When I call the V.A. to let them know I’d like to have my exposures to the burn bins in my record, they tell me they don’t know who I should call. They don’t know who the wind should call or the heat in my lungs or the hate in my head or the hurt in my theatrical heart. I remember how the smoke came from 1893, how generational trauma woke up in our late-hung spines, our lake dried, our cabin surrounded by fire. I had one relative, death by drowning. Another burned alive. Which would be worse? my cousin asks. All the above. He’s been in a psych ward. You can see it in his eyes. Ron Riekki Ron Riekki’s books include My Ancestors are Reindeer Herders and I Am Melting in Extinction (Loyola University Maryland’s Apprentice House Press), Posttraumatic (Hoot ‘n’ Waddle), and U.P. (Ghost Road Press). He has received a Pushcart Prize, a Shenandoah Fiction Award, a Best Small Fictions selection, and been in several other anthologies. Right now, he's listening to Elbow's "One Day Like This."
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April 2025
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