Category: Poems & poem-like things

We read that story, tonight, about the woman who was moved to remember the name— the name and the life of the boy who came and stood outside her window all that cold, rainy night, before she went away— The name and the life of the boy who took to his bed a week after that— who took ill with bronchitis, pneumonia— it is not clear; then swiftly passed from this world to the next— And we read that it was a song that touched a chord and sprung this memory open like epiphany— Like sudden snowfall more brilliant than light, outlining the roofs, the streets, each lamp-post in town— And do we know, do we know what that is like, someone asked— such recklessness, such love? And how many will say they would burn for some glimmer, remote, unreachable, afar? The pillows are cold; the coverlet needs turning— But here we are, with our love of warmth, of touch, of what is kind— We close our eyes, we slip our muddy feet into the icy stream.

In response to Via Negativa: Pilgrimage.

What I want is for you to read my lips, my eyes.
Curve of spine, spot on the small of the back

that has ached for days. Arch of instep, flex
of the foot; toes that lead the way, that always

lead the way as though they knew where on this earth
they were going. Hither, say the fingers curling

into the shapes of smoke. Hither,
I repeat. Hither, hither.

In response to small stone (179).

“Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither…” ~ Job 1:21 (KJV)

Would you go? Would you go in my place? e-mailed a friend, having paid in advance months ago for a twelve-day trip she would not be able to take. Down the Rhine, from Bamberg, Wurzburg, Freudenberg, down to Koblenz and Cologne, finishing with three days in Amsterdam. I would have, but for various reasons couldn’t, can’t. So I said no. Oh don’t get me wrong— who wouldn’t leap at the chance? Everything paid for: all-inclusive of meals, wine and beverages— anytime, anywhere; the land excursions, the entrance fees to museums and castles, barring other side trips outside the itinerary once the ship docks at ports of call; cashless on the boat, no tipping allowed, gratuities pre-calculated into the cost. Do not inquire too closely into my reasons. O magnum mysterium. Only know that I find it difficult to revel in joy alone. Will you reconsider? she asked. There will be 3 balls: the welcome, the Captain’s farewell, the Christmas dinner ball; live music, open seating, a personal valet on the liner through the entire trip. Truly, I thanked her; and promised, perhaps someday.

In response to the cassandra pages: two world premieres.

“Where is the way where light dwelleth? and as for darkness, where is the place thereof,
That thou shouldest take it to the bound thereof, and that thou shouldest know the paths to the house thereof?”

~ Job 38: 19-20

We sit and hug our knees, watching as children come to the center of the square, where volunteers have set up fires and big iron cauldrons. Some have brought buckets, and some have brought styrofoam bowls; and some have brought tin plates or the plastic cover of a margarine tub. Their faces are smeared with soot, with tears, with snot. They haven’t eaten for days. They haven’t washed. Soon there isn’t enough for their hunger. We wonder, will there ever be enough again? The long-handled ladles scrape the last burnt layers from the bottom of the pot. A few grains of brown rice, onions, lentils in the mouth. Behind them, the setting sun casts shadows in hives of stucco and plaster. Hollow stairwells, honeycombs of walls where bedrooms and kitchens used to be. Should I mouth the old prayers, should I repeat a phrase of comfort to my neighbor huddled beside me, it isn’t from claiming to know, Lord, what these designs can mean. I am smaller than a cipher on a flimsy page. In the darkness, every heart still beating buries itself like a mine waiting to explode, the way the dark amber flesh of a date swells and breaks open, no longer able to contain either its ripeness or the sugars that have hardened to stone.

In response to small stone (177).