The Bluestone Review Spring 2022

inside your head because I brought my confusion to you. Because I rode over on my hollow horse with my uncertainty about whether my son is home. I do not see him. Though, I still feel his hot magnetic heart.

Beautiful Icarus struggled to learn By CJ Farnsworth

and his father wasn’t prepared for that—it’s certainly not what we took away. We did take something away from the scorching and melting and falling—we walked away with a favor, a memento tied with red ribbon, affixed with a hand-wrought label, a little something for the windowsill, something for next to the salt to talk about during mealtimes because mealtime is the time to chew through the labyrinth of living If a sunny-side-up egg isn’t proof of that I am lost to interpretation. My son did not roll over. More recently I stand against casseroles. Collectively, we’ve moved on to spreading foods out to separating foods to individual shapes and colors and flavors —to boards. I am on board.

I am open concept. I am myth-making. I hold each myth precious. I hold each strawberry by its stem, tear open

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