Suspension

Arizona stretches before me,
as my father's skin opens
for the surgeon. The lump— 

this bluff, no, that mesa—no,
it’s wedged in his neck.
The tumor so close

to his nerves means legs lose
control. I grip the wheel,
pass the exit

for Meteor City Road.
If I stopped, I could stare
into the crater. The bicycle

lashed to the trunk
of my car spins its wheels,
useless. In memory

the asteroid is always falling;
the surgeon’s knife continues
to slice. I press

the gas, carve
into the 2,017 miles
tensed between us.


by Stacey Balkun

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Stacey Balkun’s work has appeared or will appear in Stone Highway Review, Los Angeles Review, THRUSH, Bodega, and others. The 2013 recipient of the C.G. Hanzlicek Poetry Writing Fellowship, Stacey served as Artist-in-Residence at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in the summer of 2013. Her chapbook, Eppur Si Muove, was selected as a Finalist for the 2014 Sunken Garden Poetry Prize.