Eric Pankey ~ Two Prose Poems

Swayed

The hori­zon per­sists: an edge, a mark­er of dis­tance. It’s either dusk or dawn. You choose. The light imma­nent. The shad­ows tip­ping out­ward, rotat­ing. You wait for the present to encroach, not an as event, but as a con­di­tion to be estab­lished. You wait in a past cast from lost wax. A hawk cries through mut­ed haze, man­zani­ta, and canyon oaks. Blue under­lays the gray. How dis­persed you seem now, whose first job is nei­ther focus nor point of view, but to be swayed by the and-so-forth-ness of it all. The trees bad­ly pruned are now a suck­ered snarl. From a water­falls’ white noise, mist lifts.

~

A Stranger

A stranger inserts him­self into the house­hold. After a day or two, they adjust din­ner time to match his sched­ule, water down the soup so anoth­er bowl can be filled, bring in a wob­bly chair from the garage to set at the table. Perhaps he is an angel or the risen Jesus. As he moves through the house, doors open onto unknown rooms.

~

Eric Pankey is the author of many col­lec­tions of poet­ry, most recent­ly Vanishments (Slant Book, 2025) and Lunar Calendar: New and Selected Prose Poems (Codhill Press, 2026).