Jacob Griffin Hall was raised outside of Atlanta, Ga and is currently a PhD candidate in English at the University of Missouri. In the past, he has worked as assistant poetry editor for the Mid-American Review and he now works as poetry editor for The Missouri Review. His work has appeared in New South, DIAGRAM, New Ohio Review Online, The Carolina Quarterly, and other journals.
It was Monday night.
I sat in the rain on the sidewalk
stacking pebbles, toeing the border
of the neighbor’s yard,
watching monsters skulk behind
a row of parked cars across the street.
It was meatloaf night and I hated it.
I parted my polite lips and watched
moths gather around the streetlight
by the mailbox. I wanted more pebbles.
I wanted my playthings. I wanted
to gather daylilies in a basket.
What if all things took the shape
more or less of their maker?
I scooped my pebbles from the stack
and hurled them into the trees.