Poetry
We sit on the veranda at assisted livinglooking across the fake pond at the trees.Their reflections shiver as a breeze ripplesthe murky surface of the water. You speakof rivers and creeks and how all things
There are tubes sticking out of his body,his body cannot process his wastinganymore and I ask his body if its sick of beinghis body,what would itbe if it were not hisbody? His body fires
I called 99 namesand the wind whispered yours through the west rib of my faith.
Through the east rib, our hands joined in prayer push out a newBeloved, could I lay you gently on my Butcher’s stone
ache index high at the marsh today
one caddisfly larva in its jeweled casedrowns stop all the clocks
sinks millennia into sedimentreminds me of tortured and hanged girl
life isas if Elizabeth Bishop wrote it,and the poem is on repeat repeat repeat:
loss, a violent form.loss, of violence formed.loss, a violation of form /
meaning
On September 3, 1809, Meriwether Lewis set out for Washington, D.C. Lewis carried his journals with him for delivery to his publisher. He had written his will before attempting suicide on this journey. He was restrained.
I’ve been thinking about things that skip a stepbecause now in late winter the snow does its subliming,jumpstarts to vapor, says to the streams “not today.”
We would talk of what was definedas tangible, rap the table witha knuckle, stroke the cashmere. Sipthe tea. Fathers were not mentioned.Nor how my mother would call meby her sister’s name, suddenly,
A lone green tree standing in ademolished frontier // The sleeping animal huff of ourown pried-open country // Time will not exonerate us
Tiny air bubbles pincushion the glasscatching rainbowsso perfectly full of light’s live handtouching also the hair and beardof the man he has become.
- 1 of 21
- next ›
Wisconsin Academy Offices
1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53726
Phone: 608.733.6633
James Watrous Gallery
3rd Floor, Overture Center for the Arts
201 State Street
Madison, WI 53703
Phone: 608.733.6633 x25