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Hunkered in the frozen marsh, trapped in winter, in congealing mud, I waited. I assumed the subsequent meal, that there would be a reward for my persistence. My reward.
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Who is this “me” that expresses thanks? So much spirit in a carrier oil. This moment — This pumpkin pie curd Smashed against strong teeth — This coffee, dark, at the end of a meal — My heart unbuttoned, … Continue reading
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My grandmother, a private person, Never let me touch her breasts, until today. At a loss – Give? Sell? Landfill? Nestling her china between phyllo layers of newsprint, Buried in her underwear drawer – the two breasts, hefty! I palm … Continue reading
Photo credit: Melanie Davies
O lente, lente, currite noctis equi—
Yes, that’s what I want right now,
Just that sensation
Of my mind’s gradual
Deceleration, as if I
Took my foot off the gas
And the Buick rolled to a stop.
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A librarian in Calcutta and an entomologist in Prague sign their moon-faced illicit emails, “ton entanglée.” No one can explain it. The strange charm between border collie and sheep, leaf and wind, the two distant electrons. There is, too, the … Continue reading
“Which is bigger,” he asks me, “the ocean or sky,”
and I want to tell him the heart, which even today
has been practicing vastness, is learning to say yes
Photo credit:
Ómar Runólfsson
Photo credit: Daily Men by Javier Sánchez Salcedo
When he got up that morning everything was different:
He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.
And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.
Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn’t walk around crying in that town.
Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.
And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,
He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.
He didn’t do anything violent as he had imagined.
He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,
And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.
From “A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry,” edited by Czeslaw Milosz
Photo: SARE Outreach
From the parking lot I see the lady at the fruit stand
Has a thick coyote tail.
She discusses peaches, asking which is the juiciest.
The tawny tail bobs slightly with anticipation.
Farmer fingers, scrubbed for Market Day ,
Select a soft-fleshed fruit and
Presses it, testing for bad spots.
Moisture gathers under her tongue, not quite lolling,
And she sniffs its lightly furred skin.
The tail rises, semi-erect and points directly at me,
Clutching my scarred chest behind the steering wheel.
She slowly plucks coins from her purse, the farmer waiting,
Tail like an arrow, letting me know,
I’m marked.
Photo Credit: Lindsay Shaver
What is yet uncovered
Are the surging tides,
The drumbeat youdonemewrong,
The throbbing hooves of blue horses
Corralled beneath my skin.
Take it. Or leave it.
What is yet uncovered
Is the pointless wrung out laundry,
The twisted bitterness of alum.
This too is life.
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