I Can Hear the Stars
laughing at me, the echo
of their ridicule, clear
and bright as their spotlight gaze.
I envy their distance,
their ability to survive without air.
I must look like a dying
fish, gasping for one last moment
of edible life. I take some
comfort in the knowledge
that my sickly scales maintain
visibility across such distance,
that my passing will not go
Valley of Ash
From a distance, the mountain pass looked black
and white, a gapping shadow of all shades gray
to fit my mood as we continued forward, the monotony
of rubber tire turning against pavement threatening
to lull me into dreamtime. I wondered briefly
if it already had, when a moment later the first flash
of umber erupted through my fog-like view.
A.J. Huffman has published eight solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. She also has two new full-length poetry collections forthcoming, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press) and A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing). She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com