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Mason Wray


The neighbor’s kid shows me

a stained feather from the alley


as if it’s stained glass

or fletching from an arrow


that ends a mythic despot’s rule.

I pretend at wonder with him, quietly


perturbed how practical

my magic has become. Consider how


in Canada, a crew of postal clerks

syphoned helium from a zeppelin


to a greenhouse & flew

the whole glass cavern like a cloud.


Dormant seeds bloomed

into novel native flora,


an ethereal museum

over their little alpine town.


I mean to say how useless it is

I can sit & make that up


then tell a kid I love

put that down.

Headshot_Mason Wray_March 2022 - Mason Wray.jpeg



Mason Wray is a poet from Atlanta, Georgia. His work has appeared in Ploughshares, New Ohio Review and New Letters, among others. He's the recipient of support from Bread Loaf, and holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Mississippi.

Bear Review


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