JOHN DORROH
My friend is drying up. Her doctor said
no alcohol or coffee. I told her drink
more water. She can’t cocoon without
a glass of wine or two. She can’t turn
her body over to someone who doesn’t
know what makes her tick. She isn’t
some note in a digital notebook,
an experiment with a predicted
outcome. Meanwhile, her eyes
need tearing in a Midwest
winter, two-foot snow drifts
piled up in front of the shed.
Her skin needs constant moisturizing
as her basement hands continue to create
creatures whose skin is as dry as teak wood.
Okra pods and driftwood from an Alabama
beach. Triple-thick crepe paper,
dehydrated pine cones, onion skin
paper. Everything needs to be
watered.
John Dorroh travels as often as possible. He inevitably ends up in other peoples’ kitchens exchanging culinary tidbits and telling tall tales. Once he baked bread with Austrian monks and drank a healthy portion of their beer. Six of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Others have appeared in over 100 journals, including Feral, North of Oxford, River Heron, Wisconsin Review, Kissing Dynamite, El Portal, and Loch Raven Review. He makes his home in Southwest Illinois not far from St. Louis.
Author Index: John Dorroh
Twisted River Review ~ Issue 1: Winter 26/27