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DEATH'S
ANNIVERSARY
Palm trees spear the late sky
and once again I am looking to the heavens
for an explanation: the capacity to love
seemingly more infinite than sky.
So celestial, the blue yonder
more cosmetic than cosmic I learned
today, the definite possibility
of life-there, near Orion's shoulder
a planet like ours, the astronomer said
with tears in his eyes. Of course
no one can reach it before they die.
That night the interminable, silent scream
turned to the rattle of teeth
in a donkey's jawbone: the desert wind
blew across the border and played the quijada.
My brother carried his wife's
frail frame from daybed to night
till the last, softest whisp
passed her dried lips and blew him
into a black hole, as deep
and dark as any. In the desert
you can see a million stars.
He, a pilot trained to fly at night
and from his cockpit, no doubt, has reached out
and touched the face of God
reels into himself and his pain.
THE
EUCALYPTUSES
He cut them
back so far they look like Giacometti sculptures
lone and slim
beside the house; once, shade for fifty years
of afternoons,
the trunks now lean, but no wind can slam
a branch
through bedroom windows, no flames will sweep her roof.
She paid
a thousand dollars. That's his fee. The torsos
stand
in line. No leaves, no silver, twinkle,
flip and toss.
MY
NIGHT BIRD
Frequently, skimming
the top of my sleep, squalls
over water so deep
within me, I felt nothing
but a gentle shift.
Angry moon: colic cries
wrenching me through tired
water to the crib bars. Every third
hour like a cuckoo you cry,
like a wound wrapped in pastel.
I plug the gap, maneuver you, blind
chick, to the hard blue nipple.
When dreams take you, I worry I am
the mare stomping your mind,
the mother you can never shake.
You carry me, a skate
hovering near
the bottom, rippling down deep.
Poems
© Nancy Knutson 2004. All rights reserved.
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Nancy
Knutson was born in the desert. She finds it hard to take things
seriously in South Florida because the weather is so good. She
writes short stories, has completed a children's novel and poems
have appeared in the Iowa Review, American Poetry Review,
Kalliope and CALYX. This is her first
publication on the Internet. While she likes holding a book in
her hands, she also thinks that web publications reach a wider
audience, will become more interactive and change poetry in ways
we don't know yet. She asks us to check out Stephanie
Strickland's
hypertext poems and her latest book, V: WaveSon.nets/Losing
L'una. |
Portrait
of Nancy Knutson © Henry Denander 2004. All rights reserved.
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