A Glance BackI My city stretches toward the sky clock hands at the witching hour. II Amusement excused himself for a drink. This was not his first. He stopped counting after the war. We thought it polite to play along. III When the flag dropped like a wilting azalea, mother sighed a steam engine into our bellies. It burned up in the wanting. Ghosts of before begged our worship. IV In ten thousand years, what bile will life bleed from cemeteries? Will it blue and green this place younger stones? V Mountain ancestors recognize my city, her face surrendering to sleep. She dreams she is a forest, or at least a town proud of the skins it has shed. ... This poem originally appeared in Shoots and Vines. It is also included in The Mattress Parlor, Colin's first full-length collection of poetry (Scribble Fire Press, 2011). |
|
|