The Meadow Annual Literary Arts Journal 2020

First Montana, Next Wyoming Bryce Berkowitz I reconsider things. In this series of matte-blue mountains, it’s all so fraught. Broken Arrow Steakhouse and Casino, Craft Beer exit 187, Dead Horse Creek Road. What was it you said about the moon? Two cows on a haybale and a fan tower stuck like a straw deep in the mountain— blowing air in, sucking air out. What it must be like to breathe so easy. A bright yellow bird above the windshield. I suppose you could say, I wanted a little problem; but there were only silver streams running through the spokes of wagon wheels and Aspen trees with trembling green leaves and a gold Chevelle with its trunk popped in a pasture, red rock highways, Bighorn Mountains— an elephant row powdered with snow. Leaving anywhere can be beautiful and it isn’t just the antelopes and mustangs running along the car. It’s saying fine to not knowing what it’s like for love to be the ending. So, time aids us in our quest for clarity, but almost can seem a long way too. 40 The Meadow