Late Winter, After the Fires
Salt will not sustain us.
The coral petrified itself.
Sappho whispered in an empty room.
The ponderosa pine grew two meters that year.
Only lace survived the fires.
The markets were invaded by fireflies.
Black amethyst appeared in wine barrels.
Scorpions flew in rectangles overlapping.
I found my father, sitting under the last California valley oak.
I told him how the roses re-grew that morning.
A tortoise walked in between us, appearing to be on its way
to the dark reservoir.
Ash still surrounds us!
Let’s have the last of the pear wine.
January Waterfowl: Lorine Niedecker
This really is a different migration.I watch the birds as I peel a tangerine.I won’t forget the wind predicted all day.
Canada geese wake up from their afternoon naps.I wish I could talk with you, Lorine, about last week;six specklebelly geese fly across a low…
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The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, January/February 2024