Rebecca Wright: POEMS 

Spring '14 TOC


The glass over the calendar was so smudged I couldn’t read the dates.
The pitcher of water was ready as usual.  The executives were ready as well and the meeting began though it was just more casual conversation.  Woody was talking about his paranoia and the columnists and diplomats seemed to agree that there was reason to fear.  What I feared was their organization.  What they feared were those outside.

thou dark young man
pacing the floor
look out the window which overlooks the courtyard
he called the others to the window
he demonstrates his point
pointing to the steam shovel scooping up debris
I hoped it didn’t mean that they were going to remove
                                                               the people’s park.



One evening a few weeks ago
I had nothing to do
I was out pulling weeds
the cats were dashing about
distracting themselves with flies
the sound of cars flared and died along the road
I was bored and pulling weeds
the summer was enormous and the heat was sear
leaf-hoppers and katydids blighting the leaves
lacewings resting in the shade until dark
then intending to read I closed my eyes and fell asleep

hint, it’s not this guy
who’s making all the money



You know the checkerberry
hugs the ground
with shiny flavored leaves
but we
                     we must go home
where there are laws and leaves to order up
list home
                    not here not ever
I hear a dragging in the leaves
they are wanderers
                                more so
their home is in the wide blind sky



Outside, the fresh body of snow
a woman despondent
has thrown the new years corsage
                                       into the snowdrift
I held her head so that she could see
what once was hers



They do everything approximately
and if you must compare
fathers dying fathers regrets or none
the happy kings
of course we live with them
for you in full
crested arms
take hold
                   the world of those who know



He laughed
                        for you the colder
still silent trembling
so still it seems
                               so steep
are we common enough to splatch
                                         incoherent with the news
one free with five
                         off invoice on the minimum
in syrup bottles
molecular of graphic formulas
I make a foolish game
                             attaching words to birds
give nature her true respect
the whole night
                  filled with stirring cries
this chorus
is an enormous electorate
           their island still another
then come to earth
a note as well as reasonable
she said it grinned and she could see its teeth
                                        which never had intentions
                                                                by themselves
inside a world
to itself a spit of land
                     with kinds of haloes
                                     hallooed to the south




she wears a bubble coat
a nylon pelt
she folds her arms
             over the horizon with a spray of light
                        shot through the evening clouds
as if drawn

morning and vesper the evening star
                                          passing almost overhead
a hazy galaxy
a single storm

                 "if I die on the mountain
                                          I wish to stay"

the sun begins to vanish
everything will become perfectly still
it is too far north
                                               in the east
the hundred mile wide path of darkness
                      where she was lost



those prickly awns that cover autumn hills
with a yellow blanket as inflammable as cotton wool
                                                    I lay me down
to spin out the dreams of the afternoon
                                          thinking like a rock



High on the list of concerns
                                   the discarded are
                                                 and probable
ruled forever on the grounds
of wasted lives



To one a woman
who will the children be
at first
            hearing them
couples known to want
                                    choose fragments of the world



Thus the killings
a business suit and tie
walked toward town
white and red glass beads
                          seek to manage and simplify



Dying both return
as though it were rewarding
                              in scientific terms
the study of a single tree
the female bruchid hangs around
                                         we don’t know what it eats
the characteristic size
                                      and all about
go like her the way to dust



The men defend themselves
         who killed those men
                   whose skulls were found
nothing they agree

                                  the latter stood
as if they were alone

his own impression
            to be the shadow of
here at table
wearing emptiness



Friends are voices
                        saying themselves
from people I should like
I listen to the radio



The man expresses smoke
                                     it stains the room

He dies
                  in puffs of thin gray grief
               of myth and world events




Who calling after me
                                   are calling over air
swifts above the city street
beyond blue doors
                                adjoining balconies




I’m to wear those clothes
blown by myth
                            and wholly cut by hand
I’m to walk among the trees
before the end of the century
                                   past the house
                           cool and waiting to be seen



           lamp unlit
another day has passed
                                         there were little hints
                                      long after everyone had gone


Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University