Poetry
It reigned in the center of the downtown square;you could use your actual feet to get there.Most often you arrived on a coffee break, orafter work when you remembered you needednew Fruit of the Loom, a Teflon pan for
quick listen to the tick of ittonight not quitetomorrow yet my friendthe time will comewhen end is endedthe light on the blackand white linoleumno longer shineswhen I am died
Molecules of our bodies only lightlybind, allow for life by not releasing,in their coupling, enough heat to burnthemselves to ashes, allow for death by easilylosing interest, and unlinking.
When I walked into the forestof camouflage, faces turned,gleaming through the leaveslike tin plates hungamongst trees for targets.
Sometime between the hen and the singing harp, Jack's mother changes hermind. Yes, the gold eggs glitter in the morning, yes, she eats off coins the size of saucers, yes, she knows tomorrow he will bring another wonder down the
Kitchen necromancer, mom unburiesthe washer each week from its shallow graveof crochet magazines, Wonder Bread bagsof phone bills, coupons clipped and saved towardssome unexpired future where Point Beer
No makeup or mirrors, nothing that reflects,no TV screens, no tinted glass, no tin.No clinging clothes or cameras,no photos or frames,no possibility of any shape, trapped.No trappings of any kind,
At seventy, the final thing she wantedto learn was to dive:
to tuck her chin to her chest, betweenher outstretched arms and to fall
headfirst toward the bottom she had bothfeared and yearned for since she had
White clapboard worn to silver sitsstraddling the crest of a dark wave of soil, sailing a froth of sand atop the dark, implacable earth.Below us in the trough, hidden now by the spray
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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