The Seeds That We Bury, the Fields That They Reap by Mike McClelland

“How many bones can you fit into a hole full of oil?” Ben asks.
“Keep going until see you white,” I tell him.
Ben’s wheelbarrowing bones into oil pits and I’m seven poles into building a fence.
They came here–they came back–for meat and blood. And oil. 
“Oil sends them into a frenzy,” I holler to Ben. “They’ll swallow it all before they know what’s in there.”
They can’t digest bone. They suck a man down, snake-like, and hork out his skeleton. Too many bones, they choke. 
So we’re going to choke ‘em up and fence ‘em in.
“Freddy,” Ben says, and I spin.
His mouth. On mine. 
These days, the first one you kiss is usually the last. 
I’m glad it’s him.


Like Sharon Stone and the zipper, Dr. Mike McClelland is originally from Meadville, Pennsylvania. He, also like Sharon Stone and the zipper, is intricately beautiful in close-up and alarmingly symmetrical from a distance. Mike has lived on five different continents but now resides in eastern Illinois with his husband, two sons, and a menagerie of rescue dogs. He teaches creative writing at Eastern Illinois University. Find him online at