Post Road Magazine #26


Fred Marchant
the soul / struggling to become your soul
   â€“George Seferis, "Mycenae"

at the far end of a sacred road—a grove of ruins for the rich

night suddenly still—weather heavy with promise of mosquitoes

some poems I never much understand—I think this reason enough

from now on become what I behold—the orange, stem and leaf

steps out fresh from my shower—a woman I've never seen before

rubber mat and two kids before him—father churning the green bay

high and barely visible two fighter jets—the ours and the not ours

white bougainvillea—what maiden fled a god and became you

surprise for my mother and father and me too—our flesh failing

my love has fallen back to swaddling sleep—I will go there too

pity the poor blue cicada flat on its back—with song and without

cliff swallows wheel and dart—tending to matters of their state

I love the broken unfinished sentence—I love my own angry

peek inside the quarried stone—see the mason with silver chisels

I had to go a long way to find the cypress tree—I was born under

toting up money—dividing it by years I have left—about this many

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