ONE WAY
A poem by Jason Ryberg

ONE WAY

There’s not much to this
poem, really: an ice blue
streetlight above a

lonely corner at
the intersection of x
and y, anywhere

in the Anyhow
Town, America of your
choice: the snow flowing

around it like a 
flurry of a million white
moths who’ve mistaken

it for their god, or
just the moon, maybe, the whole
moment floating there,

suspended, it seems,
in time and space, above a
sign that reads ONE WAY.

About the Author:

Jason Ryberg is the author of eighteen books of poetry, six screenplays, a few short stories, a box full of folders, notebooks and scraps of paper that could one day be (loosely) construed as a novel, and, a couple of angry letters to various magazine and newspaper editors. He is currently an artist-in-residence at both The Prospero Institute of Disquieted P/o/e/t/i/c/s  and the Osage Arts Community, and is an editor and designer at Spartan Books. His latest collection of poems is Fence Post Blues (River Dog Press, 2023).  He lives part-time in Kansas City, MO with a rooster
named Little Red and a Billy-goat named Giuseppe and part-time somewhere in the Ozarks, near the Gasconade River, where there are also many strange and wonderful woodland critters.

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