...the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life...

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

S.P. Poem #22: In the Summer

In the summer, we took our allotted heat

and bathed in it, sitting in the evenings

on Adirondacks we bought from some

Mexicans who made them and drove them around

in a pickup, unfinished, thirty dollars a pop.

We painted one blue and one aqua.

The birds we watched seemed wing-damaged:

we always caught them curving left (their left),

and we worried it was harbinger of some

unforeseeable thing. Their bodies sent them

into tighter and tighter arcs. So it seemed.

I drank my beer, sitting in my aqua chair,

and my mother sat in the blue by me, with her

iced-tea in the tall plastic cup. Those evenings

the sky was broken by darting shapes, curving left,

always as if under an unseen dome, as if that dome

they say that housed the stars that were really gods

directed them with their gaze toward that horizon

and not this one, the one from which the sun

would come, if it came at all.


Anonymous said...

i am totally into this poem.

[cdavidson] said...

thank you! the line breaks are not yet working for me, but there might be something going on here...