Backbone > Poetica

Eited by Phil Levine

UNTITLED

who should remain
in the circle?

those who wrote
of bees
or those who
wrote of

wild cats
each category
named. where
do I fit in?

Well, all right,
you can write about
whatever you want

so many dried
orange-purple
pine needles
that, for one,
I can tell you

this time,
I think I am
my son,
who can’t yet
write, and so
the categories

are futile
and everything
drops away

I am buoyed

up this time
by a leather
book with
soft white
pages
we fall like
rain like tears

—INDIA RADFAR

..

SOUPER DAYS

I am standing behind the food counter where I can see the customers starting to line up with their tummies empty and their money ready and so I take a deep breath and ask the first man if I can help him and he tells me that he would like a Caesar salad and so I start to make him one and then he says No! and asks me what other kinds of dressings we have and so I list them off and he decides on the creamy dressing at the front of the display which looks good to him and so I tell him that that one is the Caesar dressing and he says Yes! that one sounds good and so I spoon it over his salad not bothering to ask him if he would like Parmesan cheese or bacon bits on it and then I smile politely and hand it over to him and ask the next lady in line what she would like and she asks me what kind of cheese is in the ham and Swiss cheese sandwich and so I tell her that it is Swiss cheese, hence the name ham and Swiss cheese and she says to never mind because she does not like ham all that much and so I roll my eyes politely and move on to the next customer who asks for a bowl of trail mix and when I ask him if he would like anything else with that he says Yes! a spoon and starts laughing hysterically and so I slap my knee and smile courteously making sure to stay behind the plastic sneeze guard which separates us and then I notice a lady looking intently at our soups and so I turn the temperature down to reduce the cloud of steam which is snaking up towards the menu sign and I ask her if she would like a bowl and she asks me if it is hot and I say No! I am just wearing these oven mitts because they match my shoes and she says Oh! and moves on down the endless line of crazy customers which fill my days...

—LORRAINE ARCHER

..

UNTITLED

The
rope
of
light
I
yearn
to
be
tangled
in
burns
by—
as
I
touch
but
cannot
grasp

—JERELYNN MASON

..

DARK BEFORE DAWN

There’s a time when the night sky changes
from black to blue that’s just as dark
but things in the distance are more distinct

and you see that what you were looking for—
a lover, an answer, a break, or sleep—
is not in this night for you to find.

But no one goes mad in this quarter-hour.
This is the time to rest from your searching,
to buy a cup of coffee and then go home

to lie on your bed and listen
to the people wake who search by day.

—LEWIS GARDNER

..

EAGLE

You are proud
You do not know
that the luster
in your wrathful eye
will dim
like the evening sky
and in time
the power in your soaring wings
will slow down

and like all else
you are earth-bound

—AYTAC EDWARDS

..

You can submit up to three poems to CHRONOGRAM at a time. Send via snail or e-mail. Poetica. PO Box 459. New Paltz, New York 12561. E-mail: info@chronogram.com.Subject: Poetica.