|
Post by MoonyLuna on Feb 9, 2008 12:05:53 GMT -5
It is incorrect to say, "The dark clouds above bloom full-blown roses." Unless superbly engorged roses are terrifying to you, and fascinating, but also ordinary, in fact, hardly seen. And here, on this jetty that points toward the blue abyss where freight ships disappear,
it is imprecise to say the gulf water sings, that it is a very old song roughly sung this rainy afternoon. Because here there is no music, just a soft monotonous roar the waves spill across the rocks, a liquefaction of lace, I think, though I know the water's cold and mindless, that the waves touch blindly, that they continue like desire, forcing forward until spent.
But if you follow the stray cat that picks his way upon the rocks to the beach where the sandpipers run forward to the edge of wet left when the waves withdraw then hop backward when the waves rush in, it will be precise to say that an afternoon is when what it was you had wanted turns unfamiliar. And when the rain percusses across the jetty, mixing with the waves until it seems to be falling upward, it will be correct to state that the tall beach grasses lean down because all day the wind subdues them.
Copyright Jennifer Grotz
|
|
|
Post by MoonyLuna on Feb 9, 2008 12:06:46 GMT -5
Featured Poet Jennifer Grotz
Jennifer Grotz is the author of Cusp (Houghton Mifflin, 2003). Her poems, translations, and reviews have recently appeared in Ploughshares, TriQuarterly, The Southern Review, Mantis, Boston Review, and elsewhere. She teaches in the M.F.A. Program at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro and serves as the Assistant Director of the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference.
|
|