Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2015  v14n1
an online journal of literature and the arts
 print preview

From Which the Method of Drawing in Space between the Trees Instead of the Trees Themselves Might Well Be Employed

You with that fat blade of grass pressed between thumbs, whistling
as if your life depended on it.

You who carried three ideas up into the aspen stand, and kept forgetting two of them.

What remained were the faces of Saudi children
who survived the wedding tent fire.

They arrived in Galveston, wrapped in loose white bark, black eyes darting. I see them
every time the aspen shiver.

Touching one now, a scold of blue jays lifts.

I know cheatgrass, sweet mallow and the cough pellet a magpie leaves. I know the snap when wood burns fast and hot.

You who were supposed to teach them your words for birthday, terror, milk.
Your life depended on it.

One of their names meant fragrant in Arabic.

The god of wind traveling from the southwest was by the Greeks called Lips.

You could say they were all eyes. Exactly, repeated the aspens, exactly.  end  

return to top