Poetry
So tell your story, each version more distantand yet … still fresh, never finished.
No matter whether death was suddenor a gradual decline,
You need to remind the mind over and over againto come back to quiet,
to the dark hollows of where words and no wordsare found, like hunting morels in a forest.
As my mother tells it,when the Great Warcame my Great-GrandmotherGuarneschella lied. Datesare relative. Domenicowouldn’t be 16. Wouldn’t beconscripted. Didn’t matter.
The election happened and now you’re driving north.November freezes in the birch trees. The fieldshave nothing left. In Wisconsin where you pass themthe hills go rolling autumn through the cold.
Exhausted, this light.It was supposed to shinepiercingly brightset the roof ablazemelt the fire escapespark mica in the wallsinge a rat’s whiskersin its hole.But side-swiped by a taxi door
Life may not be as bleak as it seems.
The hurried seasons—spring, summerand fall—may plow into winter’s caboose, send it vamoosing.
Asking peopleWhat happens to them after they dieIs like asking babies in the wombWhat happens to them After they’re born—How can they answerWhen they don’t even know
the laser brush we watchedburn soot off the gownof an ancient kore
the Delphic light, siftedthrough the nets of the godsto fall on us
a cold wet compress to her foreheada brisk rub and warm breath on her pale little handsa shiver her eyes blink twice then openspring comes around slowly
Yesterday morning I’m pretty sure it was yesterdayI started walking along the beach toward someone whowould meet me at my destination. Where it was orwho it was I can’t remember off the top of my head.
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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