Devil’s Lake

Fall 2011 Issue

Jaydn DeWald: Acting, Method

Once, on stage, a boy became

My Father. I knelt before him

And he placed two fish bones

On my tongue. Rank, delicate

Little bones. Our blue skyline

Rustled. Two choirboys, each

On a white cloud, rode by me

Laughing & jerking overhead.

It was a beautiful age to learn

Pain. One could walk, sunsets,

In orange pastures, venting to

One's boring donkey. Gazing

So often into the black mouth

Of a well—one was forced to

Consider Death. Three priests

Started (stage left) to feed me

Lines. His body is home now.

His body is at home, I said &

Munched those little bones to

Sand. My Father stared down

Repulsed or stunned or afraid.

In rolled a backdrop of purple

Mountains. Then a single girl,

In a red tutu, spinning around

Like a small, overzealous fire.

a photo of the author, Jaydn DeWald JAYDN DeWALD, an MFA candidate at Pacific University, currently lives with his wife in San Francisco, CA, where he writes, plays bass for the DeWald/Taylor Quintet, and serves as an associate poetry editor for Silk Road. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Blue Mesa Review, The Hollins Critic, The New Guard, New York Quarterly, Witness, and others. More from this issue >