"The night my father died the Winter
Olympics blared from
the floating TV."

Thanks @poetrydaily.bsky.social for featuring Charles Kell's (@charles-kell.bsky.social) poem today.

"How we sat under hulking antlers
drinking warm beer, whispering to each

other the books we would write.
Artemis, Lethe, you said.

Beaver, formaldehyde, sodium borate.
A fawn with tiny pins sticking from its eyes."

-Charles Kell from ISHMAEL MASK.