Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Unincorporated Lines

In New York City this spring, I woke to sunlight and a bleary eyed view of the Brooklyn Bridge. A dream was fresh in my mind, present in it's beauty -- a coffee shop, a little creek in the middle of the city, golden light. I was writing for Tupelo Press' 30/30 and this line from the dream is all that came to me that day. It's not much but the vision is with me still. Is there more to the poem? Is there more to the mystery, that other life the dream speaks of? 

Unincorporated Lines

But the girl with golden freckles tattooed across her arms shows you where the river disappears.

Thursday, November 3, 2016

November for Beginners - Rita Dove

November for Beginners - by Rita Dove

Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.

So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing

a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!