It was good to hibernate and have some facebook/twitter/blog time off, but I'm glad to be back so I can catch you up on all the great books, music, and miscellanea I've been immersed in.
This poem by Erika Meitner showed up in my inbox back in January as part of the excellent (and free!) Poem-A-Day email subscription. There are certain poems that are so unexpected and lovely, I find myself holding my breath while I read them. There are poems that have such interesting movement and pacing, I accidentally mouth the words as I go along so I can feel the sound of the poem on my tongue. I haven't been able to delete this one from my inbox yet, so I decided I'd better share it here.
Untitled [and the moon once it stopped was sleeping]
by Erika Meitner
and the moon once it stopped was sleeping
in the cold blue light and the moon while the wind snapped
vinyl siding apart slipped around corners whipped the neighbors'
carefully patterned bunchgrass our snow-filled vegetable boxes
the house unjoining the moon our yard strips covered with
hollow shells of hard remnants ice and my son's breath
contiguous static a shard of green light on the monitor
wavers with coughs the Baptist church in Catawba
the only place lit up down the mountain past midnight, someone
waving their hands at something so quiet you can hear
the wind tear at the houses you can hear the neighbor
coming home though he's .18 acres away it's too late
for that feeling (possibility) the night always held
the wind is at it again cracking
paint on the walls one day it will unroot us
one day the wind will tally our losses
but not yet the moon not yet
in the cold blue light and the moon while the wind snapped
vinyl siding apart slipped around corners whipped the neighbors'
carefully patterned bunchgrass our snow-filled vegetable boxes
the house unjoining the moon our yard strips covered with
hollow shells of hard remnants ice
contiguous
wavers with coughs the Baptist church in Catawba
the only place lit up down the mountain past midnight, someone
waving their hands at something so quiet you can hear
the wind tear at the houses you can hear the neighbor
coming home though he's .18 acres away
for that feeling (possibility)
the wind is at it again
paint on the walls one day it will unroot us
one day the wind will tally our losses
but not yet the moon not yet
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