Maybe it’s a vision so clear the dark can’t darken it,
and the mountainous range of roadblocks
and barricades can’t dim the image of it. It’s fixed
and steady. An unchanging map in our blood
I believed the necessity
of that suffering world, hoping it would learn not to do
it again. But I was young. The world never learns.
They spoke a language that smelled of horsehair
and tasted of apple butter and red beet eggs
Poems by Cynthia Atkins, Jose Alcantara, Judith Alexander Brice, Michael T. Young, Sydney Lea, Charlie Brice, John Samuel Tieman, and Adrian Rice.
I’m rocked into fields
of a lyrical witness, history rolls over
glittering in sunlight
During bedtime my little spider monkey
asked what we’re doing about global warming
The green folds of hillside
in the distance will open like arms to embrace you,
our soils enriched by the return,
the reminder of who we all are.
Prayers and wonder in these arches flicker
into smoke and ash, a single, blind beating wing
He likes to repeat to himself a phrase from a Keats letter: I will clamber through the clouds and exist. It steadies him like leaning against trees, or brewing coffee … Continue reading