Aidan Castle

Porch Lights

He shoots into the world three weeks early. Five pounds three ounces. Body writhing. Blood pooling onto the floor. None of us are ready. 

thunderhead. . .
an eagle feather cast
onto the freeway

His dad holds him and cries every day now. I wrap my arms around him and hold them both. 

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About the Author

Aidan Castle’s poems have recently appeared or are forthcoming in NOON: journal of the short poem, Bones, Kingfisher, Prune Juice, and his book the gossamer (KDP, 2023). When not writing, he enjoys hiking, camping, playing board games, and drinking coffee. Aidan lives and loves in the Pacific Northwest.

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