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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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 [Untitled]

 

 

"…at last it gets almost finished in my head, even when it is a long piece, so that I can see the whole of it in a single glance in my mind…the best of all  is the hearing of it all at once."

 

               – W.A. Mozart

                                              

  

A sudden fluttering

of the heart as it takes

the whole of it up

 

for a moment – a thing indwelling.

For me, a feeling of childhood,

the fear of my father

 

fills me; by chance

I hear his rhythmic knock used

on unexpected visits to the house

                                            

                                        

 

or the bird's call

he would whistle in public

when he had spotted us            

                

 

but we hadn't seen him –

a warning call,

(a reminder of his eye).

 

Then I know it again,

with a single glance

in my mind, all at once.


        -Diana Arterian

First Wind

  

 

It was in Echo Park on an early fall day.

You had spread a blanket for us to sit on and read.

We had not been seeing each other long.

As we rested there quietly, what seemed like

the first wind of autumn blew through the park.

A tree to our right leaned and shook, letting loose,

finally, the dead leaves clinging to its long, slender 

limbs. I observed as the gust took up 

the mass of gold, saffron and swept it through the sky. 

As I turned my head to follow the leaves blowing 

through us, I was met with your kind face, flecks of leaf

in your hair, watching. You could have been

looking anywhere – your book, the lake – but

you heeded the moment and lifted your head

to also witness the beauty on that late afternoon.


                                                 -Diana Arterian

 

 

Meadowmount School - 

Westport, New York

 

 

After spending seven,

eight or ten

hours of daylight

pulling Bach from our instruments

we would gather at night

in the forest to drink. Beer mostly,

which I had yet to earn

a taste for. I remember one night

a few of us driving up the hill

cracking open some bottles

and lying in the road to stare

at the Adirondack stars.

Some discussion, but mostly breath

and mountain sounds.

At eighteen, I had not felt

so certain of myself

in a long, long time.

It was a feeling as sure and fragile

as a baby bird. I wanted to take it up

in my mouth              cradle it there



                             -Diana Arterian