SurVision Magazine / Daniel McGinn

I used to believe the stars

were gods watching us.
If these gods fell to earth
they became like us
as a punishment. I'm old now

and know about falling.
It's gift, like innocence.
it's a tool placed in your hands.
The human soul is tiny. Smaller

than a hummingbird heart.
The human soul is imperfect
and weights almost nothing.
I used to believe the stars

were people drifting into
afterlife like dandelion seeds.
When we die we are lighter
than air. We ascend like balloons

except we don't have balloon skin
only our laughter. When helium
escapes our bodies, we disappear
along with our cartoon voices.

Two roads converged

into a pair of legs opening before me like Georgia O'Keefe.
There bloomed a flower standing naked in a bed of grass.
I have to get back to work. Who has time to stand around
waiting for bees to come back?

They disappeared after falling from the sky into a bed of
poppies like Dorothy did, like Elvis did, like Marylin did...

My granddaughter worries that soon there will be no fish,
if we squash them like bees, squid will rule the ocean.
I wrote that down in my notebook one hundred times but
I could not wash the ink from my hands.

Daniel McGinn is a native of Whittier, California. His work has been published in The MacGuffin, Rip Rap, SurVision, Spillway, and The OC Weekly along with many other magazines and anthologies. He is the author of several chapbooks in the Laguna Poets series. His full-length poetry collections are 1000 Black Umbrellas (Write Bloody, 2011) and The Moon, My Lover, My Mother & The Dog ( Moon Tide Press, 2018). His chapbook, Drowning the Boy, which won the James Tate Prize 2021, has been published by SurVision Books in 2022.

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An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Eleven DANIEL McGINN I used to believe the stars were gods watching us. If these gods fell to earth they became like us as a punishment. I'm old now and know about falling. It's gift, like innocence. it's a tool placed in your hands. The human soul is tiny. Smaller than a hummingbird heart. The human soul is imperfect and weights almost nothing. I used to believe the stars were people drifting into afterlife like dandelion seeds. When we die we are lighter than air. We ascend like balloons except we don't have balloon skin only our laughter. When helium escapes our bodies, we disappear along with our cartoon voices. Two roads converged into a pair of legs opening before me like Georgia O'Keefe. There bloomed a flower standing naked in a bed of grass. I have to get back to work. Who has time to stand around waiting for bees to come back? They disappeared after falling from the sky into a bed of poppies like Dorothy did, like Elvis did, like Marylin did... My granddaughter worries that soon there will be no fish, if we squash them like bees, squid will rule the ocean. I wrote that down in my notebook one hundred times but I could not wash the ink from my hands. Daniel McGinn is a native of Whittier, California. His work has been published in The MacGuffin, Rip Rap, SurVision, Spillway, and The OC Weekly along with many other magazines and anthologies. He is the author of several chapbooks in the Laguna Poets series. His full-length poetry collections are 1000 Black Umbrellas (Write Bloody, 2011) and The Moon, My Lover, My Mother & The Dog ( Moon Tide Press, 2018). His chapbook, Drowning the Boy, which won the James Tate Prize 2021, has been published by SurVision Books in 2022.
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