Three Poems, Paul Ilechko

Gallery

The ones who had been flayed grew back

another epidermis     and the blind were 

able to see again     and the deaf danced for

the first time to the sounds of modern

music     a ritualistic rhythm that skittered

through their heads     and finally nobody

was to go hungry     he told us these things

and everyone laughed     even though their

images were mounted on a good stock card

and displayed in his gallery     and their 

children had shoes for their feet     and we 

held out our pale-veined hands     the cool 

dry skin that had never been cut in anger     

we were as green as a sky-reflected forest     

lost to our fathers and mothers     we told 

it to the world     our children and our 

children’s children     their tears sealed out 

by the bitter night as we sheltered     warm 

and dry within the comfort of his arms     

the glory of his hard-fought evangelism.

Underwater

Light filtering through water 

quickly into darkness     fish

swimming in butterfly swarms

of colored smoke     light

become literature in that brief

moment before it all disappears

but it’s only a tank in the corner

of someone’s apartment     with

the smell of cloves and cinnamon

drifting from the kitchen

there are people     but they 

are as immaterial as the most

pellucid of fish     not truly

here     they swarm and separate 

and regather     all of a common

mind     seeking something 

love     or visibility     or the chance

to reclaim the ancient forests 

and wide plains where their ancestors

hunted     before it is all too late.

The Travelers

The spots are lighting it up     in specific areas 

flooding it with hue     it’s so beautiful that it

triggers our emotions in uncontrollable ways

the colors come and go     sweeping across

the surfaces     but it’s out of reach     piloting

through another space that we will never be

able to access     there are people there who are

wearing special clothing     and they know 

that they can never return     some of us claim

that they are heroes     others say they are idiots

but everyone agrees that they are brave

having ridden their vehicles on a one-way

journey     with their particular diets     and their 

calming drugs     they moved through the world

like pieces on a game board     simultaneously 

young and old     needing both athleticism 

and wisdom to reach their goal     and once

they were there     they realized they were trapped

in a new form of servitude     a victim of 

their own success     only waiting for it to end.

Paul Ilechko is a British/American poet. Born in South Yorkshire, he now lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ. His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including The Night Heron Barks, Louisiana Literature, Iron Horse Literary Review, Clackamas Literary Review, and Book of Matches. His first album, "Meeting Points", was released in 2021.