A few weeks ago I went on a book buying binge, ordering some 20-odd new and used titles, but family life has been so busy I haven't really had time to talk about the treasures I've found. I think now, however, I have a moment to take a poetic turn.
Louise Mathias has a new chap out, Above All Else, the Trembling Resembles a Forest, from Burnside Review Press. The entire chap is wonderful, but I suppose the following is my favorite. So hard to choose!
Now listen to me good. To be dreaming
of the cove, the light pink cottage
that was always on the edge. This being the year
my jeans fell from my frame. You said I was close to God
but he wouldn't concur. Weeds
grew up on bales of clean white salt. All summer
where I lived, watched the carpenter ants on the rocks.
When I wasn't in my body, I was dead. Cops
circled, paraphernalia swirled
inside my lonely purse.
There was nothing to do but wait.
Contraband, will you
turn to silk again? Tilt his white, Atlantic
to the shy shy-eyed puffins?