by MARC FRAZIER
My friend Leslie and I saw Joni Mitchell in a restaurant in New
York. Our forks stopped mid-air and for once we were speechless. No
way we could be urbane and debonair as we tried to be. A plague of
locusts couldn’t have drawn our attention from her. In fact, we wished
she was blowing cigarette smoke in our faces. Leslie’s chin quivered. I
couldn’t sit still enough to eat. I thought of how I’d visited the Bay of
Fundy because she sang of it, how I couldn’t be an artist of any kind
with her still in the world.
From Issue 7
MARC FRAZIER has published poetry for decades in journals including The Spoon River Poetry Review, ACM, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Slant, Permafrost, and Poet Lore. He has also published memoir, fiction, and essays. His three poetry collections—The Way Here, Each Thing Touches, and Willingly—are available online. Frazier, the recipient of an Illinois Arts Council award for poetry, has been nominated for a Pushcart prize and a Best of the Net. He is a Chicago-area, LGBTQ author. See Marc Frazier Author page on Facebook, @marcfrazier45 on Twitter.