"Above the Mountaintops" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, "Repentance" by Natasha Trethewey, and three other poems

~
Above the mountaintops
all is still.
Among the treetops you can feel 
barely a breath--
--From "Above the Mountaintops," a poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated from the German by Rita Dove, The New Yorker (November 13, 2017), p. 63.

To make it right     Vermeer painted     then painted over
this scene     a woman alone at a table     the cloth pushed back
rough folds at the edge     as if     someone     had risen
--From "Repentance," a poem by Natasha Trethewey, The New Yorker (November 20, 2017), pp. 66-67.

Near a recently thawed pond, within a long
channel of construction, a man holding a sign.
One side says slow, the other stop.  
Joy and sorrow always run like parallel lines.
--From "Signs for the Living," a poem by Didi Jackson, The New Yorker (October 2, 2017), p. 42.

Tonight I found out that I am divorced.
My second try at marriage, and it's through. 
Relief is what I feel most, mixed with pain, of course, 
remorse, and just plain grief, which makes me think of you, 
you who knew such sorrow in your life
and all the ways that love can come undone, 
who was the first to call yourself my wife . . .  
--From "News of My Divorce Reminds Me of Your Death," a poem by Taylor Mali, Rattle (December 7, 2017).

The media loves pitting women against women: how do you feed your baby, why don't you fit in that dress, disposable diapers last 8 billion years even in the guts of sharks, gold digger, cougar, jailbait, cat fight.  On Coney Island, Miki Sudo downed 38 hot dogs in 10 minutes for the national crown. 
--From "Mother's Day," a poem by Karen Skolfield, Waxwing, Issue XIII (Fall 2017).

Frost in the Low Areas

~
Frost in the Low Areas, a collection of poetry by Karen Skolfield (Zone 3 Press, 2013). 

They've turned back to the food, what's left

of the warm brie.  These are not the people

you want between you and the lifeboats.
--From "Where Babies Come From," p. 3, originally published in Zone 3.

 

Mistake one: driving by two cemeteries when the kids

are tired.  Mistake two: saying only some people get

buried.  Where are the others, my son asks.   
--From "Rumors of Her Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated," p. 31, originally published in BOXCAR Poetry Review (Spring 2011) and later in the 2011 Best of the Net Anthology.  

..the students act as if they were being pressed

to death.  As if the rest of their lives were cheery

and full of volunteer work and perfect omelettes.  
--From "Sturm und Drang," p. 34, originally published in Conte (Volume 7, Issue 1). 

The note said that my pea seeds

are infected with pea weevils, many

apologies, here's a refund...

They're next to a big hunk

of meat and every time I open the freezer

I startle, like the time my daughter

froze her toys, the eyes

of a baby doll staring, rime-rimmed. 
--From "Disposal," pp. 63-64, originally published in Used Furniture Review (September 5, 2012).