~
The lake freezes, the lake closes its eyes
and a minor paralysis comes upon us.
From the knees, I stand in landfall, landfill. . . .
From "This Body of Water Is Not Meant to Move," a poem by Jane Wong, published in Linebreak (April 3, 2013).
~
After work I'd go to the little bars
along the bright green river, Chloe's Lounge,
Cloverleaf, Barleycorn, it was like dying
to sit at five p.m. with a Bud so cold
it had no taste, it stung my hand,
when I returned home I missed my keys
and rang until my wife's delicate head
emerged in her high window . . .
From "The Bars," a poem by D. Nurkse, published in A Night in Brooklyn (Alfred A. Knopf, 2012) and presented by Knopf Poem-a-Day on April 4, 2013.
~
I am dreaming of a letter
that I am writing to my
dead sister. The text
appears word for word
before me and I find that
it is the coming accounting
of her eulogy or this poem. . . .
From "Our Hair," a poem by Barbara Gravelle, published in Salome Magazine (April 1, 2013).
~
I wanted to give you something —
no stone, clay, bracelet,
no edible leaf could pass through. . . .
From "The Present," a poem by Jane Hirshfield, published in Come, Thief (Alfred A. Knopf, 2011) and presented by Knopf Poem-a-Day on April 11, 2013.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
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