On the Way—
for D. Doss (1919-2006)

X's only weapon'sno weapon at all—
Belly crawlsdirt across an open field, sand
shifts, stones presspointed, tall grasswavers wind;
shimmers glass & gone—

Around X fliesa nebula; an elegant math:
metal clouds—Earthen clumps & bodies
arc, fall—
Rain arms, legs, on living & dead—

Through all
X crawls,seeing only plotted end-points,
thinking not

of return—
Only the one object before X—

Some body not X's own: some B, C, D,some wounded
Q, R, S, some E, F or H,lost to the world—

There's a long-lens staring down,zeroing
another's breath,letting delicate crosshair
vision reston a rising & falling chest—

X's breathing along
with whatever N, O or P,

X movestowards; time'sa tunnel
drawing X to coordinatesalong the edge of seeing—

From each corpse eyedeath watches
X strain against earth—

Even still, X feels in X's bones;X knows X
can rescue the whole alphabetif X can just get
back & forthbetween points
Alpha & Zed


Chris Siteman, lives in Brookline, MA. He holds an MFA from Emerson College and a JD from Suffolk University Law School. His work is forthcoming, or has recently appeared, in Stoneboat, The Hawai'i Review, spoKe, The Carolina Quarterly and Hayden's Ferry Review. (

Boxcar Poetry Review - ISSN 1931-1761