Lake Echo, Dear
Is the woman in the
pool of light
really reading or
just staring
at what is written
Is the man walking in
the soft rain
naked or is it the
rain
that makes his shirt
transparent
The boy in the iron
cot
is he asleep or still
fingering the springs
underneath
Did you honestly
believe
three lives could be
complete
The bottle of green
liquid
on the sill is it
real
The bottle on the
peeling sill
is it filled with
green
Or is the liquid an
illusion
of fullness
How summer’s children
turn
into fish and rain
softens men
How the elements of
summer
nights bid us to get
down with each other
on the unplaned floor
And this feels
painfully beautiful
whether or not
it will change the
world one drop
***
Personals
Some nights I sleep with my dress on. My teeth
are small and even. I don't get headaches.
Since 1971 or before, I have hunted a bench
where I could eat my pimento cheese in peace.
If this were Tennessee and across that river, Arkansas,
I'd meet you in West Memphis tonight. We could
have a big time. Danger, shoulder soft.
Do not lie or lean on me. I'm still trying to find a job
for which a simple machine isn't better suited.
I've seen people die of money. Look at Admiral Benbow. I wish
like certain fishes, we came equipped with light organs.
Which reminds me of a little known fact:
if we were going the speed of light, this dome
would be shrinking while we were gaining weight.
Isn't the road crooked and steep.
In this humidity, I make repairs by night. I'm not one
among millions who saw Monroe's face
in the moon. I go blank looking at that face.
If I could afford it I'd live in hotels. I won awards
in spelling and the Australian crawl. Long long ago.
Grandmother married a man named Ivan. The men called him
Eve. Stranger, to tell the truth, in dog years I am up there.
C.D. Wright
No comments :
Post a Comment