The Innisfree Poetry Journal
by Martina Reisz Newberry
Just remember that I warned you . . . you told me
about your recent travels—a train climbing
through snowed hills, through tall spiked trees drowning in snow.
Just one dark bird you saw in one of those trees
as you rolled past. Think of it, you said, one dark
bird throughout the long mountain passes. How could
that be? Your fellow travelers ate from bags
and insulated lunch carriers: bread and
cheese, salami and oranges or apples. You
told me these things as if they were maladies
of time and direction. As the train slowed, you
saw a horse—alone—relieving itself in
the snow so nonchalantly, almost with grace.
If only we could do the same you told me.
A long trip through ever-dimming sky, the snow
whiter than imaginable. You said you’d
never known such loneliness, nearly frightening.
Before complete dark, you saw the unsound haunts
of your history walk through the trees, line up
at the rails and watch your train pass. Do recall
that I warned you of such travels, of trains and snow.
I am sorry, my friend.
If You Will
If you will forgive me my darkness,
I’ll channel the winds that come through
the canyons and I’ll breathe them
into your hands.
You will be protected from the void
that sits at the sides of fucking and fasting
and numerous other bluffs that could
come your way.
If you will absolve me of my excesses,
I’ll see to it that the unjustness of this world
stays to itself and Magic––as it is wont to do––
will bear you no malice.
At supper, I will fill your plate
with undreamt dreams and pour
lightning into your cup. At bedtime,
I’ll turn your sheets down
with fingers like song lyrics and give the gods
of rest your full and true name. I’ll lay
vagueness over your esculent body and
Comb elixirs through your hair.
All this for forgiveness, for the exculpation
of everything I cannot be or do . . . .
We are far from paradise. An apple
you accept from a naked woman
could explode at any time. Believe me,
you are better off waving away my sins,
smiling wisely at my weaknesses
forgiving me my darkness.
Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication