Jed Myers


The night is like others—two primal
carnivores under the covers, arms out
in mutual cuddle, clock set—civil

and absent apparent unrest. But look out—
this, love’s bed, is a valley of red
sloughs and marshes, silted with doubt

and old hurt, and till one of us is dead
or longer, we’re wound up like two
caduceus serpents head-to-head,

a symmetry of the undoing we’ll do
to each other. Love is our sunder
of hide, a tear through the tissue

down to where name is no matter, under
the grudge oaths and prayers engraved
in our scrimshaw of bone—love, our thunder

up from inside to rupture the staves,
to let pour the flood out of the core,
out through the vortex of hisses and raves

where we’re molten, molted and no more
known to ourselves or each other—marrow
and crave, we are door after door

down uncounted caverns, all sorrows
dark veins and burning lakes, no final
floor or far shore, and no tomorrow.


Jed Myers is a Philadelphian living in Seattle. Two of his poetry collections, The Nameless (Finishing Line Press) and Watching the Perseids (winner of the 2013 Sacramento Poetry Center Book Award), are 2014 publications. Recent recognitions include Southern Indiana Review’s Mary C. Mohr Editors’ Award and the Literal Latte Poetry Award. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, Nimrod International Journal, Fugue, Atlanta Review, and elsewhere. He works as a psychiatrist with a therapy practice and teaches at the University of Washington.