Jason Irwin: A Stillness Nearly Mineral | The poetry of Robert Gibb
A stillness which is very nearly mineral
Keeps insisting upon the essential
Loneliness with which this light is filled.
Jason Irwin: Sickness Will Surely Take the Mind
Maybe it all started with the murder of John Lennon, or the books my mother bought me on JFK and MLK. Whatever the reason, by the time I was thirteen I was a hardened news junkie always looking for a fix.
Jason Irwin: Giuseppe the Shoe-Maker
Giuseppe, a simple shoe-maker,
who never learned English, stood
banging his head against the wall,
cursing God in his native tongue
Jason Irwin: Their Hands
All I remember were their hands holding me down: my mother’s father’s, a young nurse who gripped my left arm, and the doctor, who, before each prick into my skin, assured me it wasn’t a needle, just his finger.
Jason Irwin: Cucumbers
“I still can’t bring myself to buy cucumbers. He loved them.” she says, but never mentions the car accident, or how she had blamed me for your drinking again…
Jason Irwin: We Watched the Lights
You hardly touched your food.
Down to fifty-eight pounds
at your last check-up.
Yet, your hair was still beautiful…
Jason Irwin: Landscape
See the men break through the early morning mistlike phantoms from a dream; their hat brims
pulled low, shirt sleeves rolled above elbows,
boots caked with last week’s mud.
Jason Irwin: Smoke Rising
Back then to see dark clouds of smoke
rising above the housetops meant that God, in his wisdom and mercy,
was still on our side.
Jason Irwin: The Child and the Train
In the distance a train cries
like a whippoorwill,
and a child, in his bed,
sick with fever, wakens
from dreams of far off places.
Jason Irwin: Monster
On rainy nights when the roof leaked,
when the bills piled up, nights I lay in the hospital
waiting for X-rays or surgery
the monster’s shadow stained the walls.
