you slipping through
It’s a little bit
true that the
hole in my jacket
the breast pocket
yeah all relaxed
has a hole &
one’s in the lining
but this one
now it’s a writing
silly black out there
in the air &
I was on
my feet are cold
and you wouldn’t
be in the
long it doesn’t happen
there’s no climate
in a plane
and I was in one
but not on
each thing I do
is a little
bit wrong. I’m willing
but they never
out the hole
forget but I
A Little Bit by Eileen Myles
It has been so wet stones glaze in moss;
everything blooms coldly.
I expect you. I thought one night it was you
at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs,
you in a shiver of light, but each time
leaves in wind revealed themselves,
the retreating shadow of a fox, daybreak.
We expect you, cat and I, bluebirds and I, the stove.
In May we dreamed of wreaths burning on bonfires
over which young men and women leapt.
June efforts quietly.
I’ve planted vegetables along each garden wall
so even if spring continues to disappoint
we can say at least the lettuce loved the rain.
I have new gloves and a new hoe.
I practice eulogies. He was a hawk
with white feathered legs. She had the quiet ribs
of a salamander crossing the old pony post road.
Yours is the name the leaves chatter
at the edge of the unrabbited woods.
Dear One Absent This Long While by Lisa Olstein
Last night I was a child again
in Raleigh. And the
Dorich boys were on the roof
and my sister was
waiting behind the Monopoly
board and it was summer
and the heat was like
a separate personality and
dogs wandered here and
there unhindered by fences or
leashes and I could see
how my future spread out be-
fore me like a relief map
without relief and I only wanted
to fit in again, to find
my family intact, Scamp still
alive and my father,
regal in his recliner, an
ashtray full of cigarettes
near him and I wanted to say,
Father, stop now, stop please,
let this not be dream. Let it
be true that I am a child again
in Raleigh, under the
finest sun anyone had ever seen,
never to be seen again.
Last Night I was a Child Again in Raleigh by Corey Mesler
I walk through the raspy voices of the fallen leaves
shuffle through the playlist of your memory
rifle through suitcases of past days
stepping on milestones strategically placed
arriving at this moments’ frigid windchill
to stand on the sandy shore
of blue skied tomorrows chloroformed dreams
full of next choices
I turn toward the day, falling down with such grace
the brilliant colors of the future before me
the promise of love written all across the horizon
life, with all its beauty, sings my name softly
a lullaby, like no other,
sleep, child, all is well
you are love
you are loved
I sit, giving my weight to the chair.
I breathe. I wait. I behold.
The tree exercises patience,
lets go a leaf, pauses,
lets go a leaf.
I can’t see it
but the horizon embraces me.
The hills pass it on.
The ground abides.
God unhurries, unworries.
A depth opens.
Presence wells up.
I have passed
out of the world of adjectives.