Two Poems by Brandon McQuade MOWING The distant smoke of burning leavesand the heavy scent of gasoline smothers the late-summer air. He stops to watch wings scatter aimlessly from the trees. His forearm glistens in silence and the mower grinds to a halt as he wipes his brow, seated on a bench in the half-mown grass. Nothing but the wind to witness his chest tightening like a fist around his heart. RED TRACTOR in memory of David Bowring A bright red tractor sputters and dies on the yellow horizon. The spider plants on our kitchen table died years ago—green leaves spilling from the bowl like milk tongued from a saucer, until they folded in on themselves like immolated sheets of paper—the way you can almost hear them screaming and curling like singed hair, the crumbling ash of something living. Right now, chemotherapy is tearingat your uncle’s vitals like a controlled fire. The red tractor may yet turn over,and the farmer might save his field. But the fire inside your uncle’s pancreas will never extinguish or ignite again. Meet the Poet! Brandon McQuade is an award-winning poet, and founding editor of Duck Head Journal. His poetry collection, Bodies, was the recipient of the 2022 Neltje Blanchan Memorial Writing Award. He lives in Northern Wyoming with his wife and their children. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Like this:Like Loading... Published by fragmentedvoices A small, independent press based in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, UK, and Prague, the Czech Republic View all posts by fragmentedvoices