Not that long ago, I controlled the territory along the very high fence that defends a remnant of paradise. Unseen hands had snipped the opening in the chain-link at the back of the playground and, riskier, along the road near the convent, but our feel for the unknown rebels, almost memory, convinced us we were the new guardians. When another gang came into the territory, my forces ran at them and they fled. That unnerved me, but standing on the big rock, watching my toy army scatter the impostors, our doubles — side-lit figures in a nimbus of midges and seed, the fence black against the orange light, valedictory even in victory — standing on the big rock I felt I knew truths that only the big changes could say: the exultation of geese that tack across streams of chapel sunlight, the crepitation of the freezing ground, the resignation of sap. How could I teach the others what I sensed when the big changes had been routed as thoroughly as those weaklings?

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Benjamin Gantcher is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the recipient of a LABA fellowship as well as residencies from the UCross Foundation and the Omi International Arts Center. His first book of poems, Snow Farmer (CW Books, 2017), was a finalist in many book contests. Gantcher’s first poetry manuscript, If a Lettuce, earned finalist honors in the National Poetry Series and Bright Hill Press contests. His chapbook Strings of Math and Custom was published by Beard of Bees Press. Gantcher’s poems and essays have appeared in many journals, including Tin House, Slate, Guernica, The Brooklyn Rail and DIAGRAM. Gantcher was Poet of the Week at Brooklyn Poets and is a former poetry editor of failbetter. New work is forthcoming in Rhino. He is the editor, publisher and designer of unbound books, “free, downloadable, printable, foldable, downright handsome books” that can be got @benjamingantcher and at https://gantcher.wordpress.com/unbound-books/