In Iowa Poem by Chase Gagnon

I have a garden
with nothing but barbed wire
and dandelions
where ceramic gnomes
lose their color
in the heat of summer.

But come dusk
the fireflies bring their pulse
to the flat line
of this farm town's horizon
in thunder
and those gnomes
become lost in the darkness.

I like to tell myself
they're out wandering the fields
trapping fireflies in their tiny palms
to crush them
and rub the glow beneath their eyes
like warpaint—
screaming into the night
behind the sound of the passing
freight train,
as they sacrifice their virgins
to the rails.