The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by J. Ladin HEADSTONES IN SNOW (after Psalm 147) Slate nubs strungWhose word runs swiftest to the earth. In strings of six or seven, Childhoods tongued By centuries of winter, Rimed and glozed by moonlit frost, Losses lost in the field of loss The bearded biped sidles past, Still upright, still on legs, still bathing In the tepidarium of flesh, slipping a little On the fragile crust That separates life from death, Father enough To wish to resurrect, to demand, As though he didn’t know, Whose word made their waters flow Into slender wooden boxes, gave them Snow for wool, frost for bread. The children shrug the shoulders Of the lives they failed to live. Words Run swiftest to earth. Psalms Of socket and rib. ASSENT (after Psalm 148 and Annie Kantar) The birds of paradise have landed. HeavenIs closing in. Every desire, every terror, The unborn and the gone-forever, Thickens and descends. Even the trees are beginning to bend. Mountains, hills, uncertain willows, Snow and smoke, fruit-tree and cedar, Youths and maidens alike, old and young together— Heaven weighs on their branches. Heaven bows their heads. The birds of paradise’s Orange finger-flares Splay against the encroaching glare. Angels incarnate as vegetation, Their unflying finery the marriage— The compromise, the give-and-take— Of necessity and transcendence. Heaven has earthed, Earth heavened. The beauty of futility, the ecstasy Of frustration, the gorgeous Pining for skies Designed to deny The plumage designed to try them, Vanish in praise’s conflagration, The life beyond life That moots the life That made them. The birds of paradise prepare For the flight beyond, or within The God whose beginning Is their end. Orange beaks open. Tremble. Assent. THINGS WITH FEATHERS Hope is the thing with feathers
--Emily Dickinson Fattening on bits of future. You always seem surprised To find we have devoured Weeks of hours, buried sills In translucent feathers, Nested on so many rungs and rafters The slightest shift Might mean disaster; When cornered become vicious, turning On what bred us; when trapped Gnaw off our limbs; Spread like a bruise When beaten; when systematically eradicated, Multiply within, metastasizing life from loss, Thriving on what kills us. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |