Poetry by Steve Jensen

             ​ Jeff Ruane CC



Fresh and Unadorned
 
One day I will fistfight
zoo animals. The great 
 
tremor will come, and
all the walls will fall.
 
Like goldfish in a bowl,
every being grows to the 
 
size of his environment.
Billions of years ago,
 
fat carp stalked the plains,
wrapped in skins of others. 
 
Flaming gold coats and 
mascot heads with fangs.
 
Winners and losers. Mixed
and matched and worn.





Toast

Daddy told me our toaster could sense
when a slice of bread should pop.

I cradled this, my father’s imparted wisdom.
Gauges within that $15, mirrored-metal cube

measured the moisture inside every fiber
of yeast and flour

till the perfect dryness had been attained.
Even as age dispelled my myth,

I hovered and gazed at the glowing,
fire-orange wires within

the gaping wounds of that dead box
with quiet unshaken faith.

Likewise, I have faith in God’s presence
even now.

​

Steve Jensen is an Iowan living in Seattle with his wife, kids, and dog.  There were brief stops in Kansas City, St. Louis, and London along the way.  He will always want to know the size of your town.  

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