On growing
by Jay Pabarue
Every morning, when light
comes through the window and trembles
like so many spoons on the floor,
A hundred poorly drawn fathers roll
onto a hundred shoulders, offer a hundred
contented hmmms, and fold themselves back
into sleep.
A hundred young sons hit
puberty. They sprout underarm hair
and begin to grow two hundred sinuous
biceps, unknowing. Breathing steady, broad sighs.
A hundred mothers wake with
two hundred aching, dry
breasts and gasp two hundred gasps
just as the sun rumbles upwards
and the light on the floor flattens
from wobbling spoons
to
a golden shell.
Maintained or neglected, familiar or foreign, well-worn or wild, roadways inform our decisions and identities. Their geographies direct the movement
of our lives and sketch the cartography of our stories. In this spirit, 322 Review publishes provocative emerging and established artists whose fiction,
creative nonfiction, poetry, and mixed media artwork wander the paths of human experience. A nonprofit literary journal conceived
and operated by former Rowan University graduate students, 322 Review is based in Southern New Jersey.
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