Friday, December 21, 2012

Southern Gothic By Donald Justice

 Anhui Sheng or Anhui Province

Something of how the homing bee at dusk
seems to inquire, perplexed, how there can be
No flowers here, not even withered stalks of flowers,
Conjures a garden where no garden is
and trellises too frail almost to bear
the memory of a rose, much less a rose.
Great oaks, more monumentally great oaks now
than ever when the living rose are new,
Cast shade that is the more completely shade
upon a house of broken eaves.
No samask any more prevents the moon,
But it unravels, peeling from a wall,
Red roses within roses within roses.

Northwestern University Shepard Residential College, Stillwater Newspress, for image credit...

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Waving Good-Bye By Gerald Stern

I wanted to know what it was like before we
had voice and before we had fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions
and tears to help us over our feelings,
so I drove my daughter through the snow to meet her friend
and filled her car with suitcases and hugged her
as an animal would, pressing my foread against her
walking in circles, moaning, touching her cheek,
and turned my head after them as an animal would,
watching helplessly as they drove over the ruts,
her smiling face and her small hand just visible
over the giant pillows and coat hangers,
as they made their turn into the empty highway.