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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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TWO POEMS

Jed Myers



POEM

 

Imageless I, alone

in bed with the light on, the open

 

notebook like a tent for my face

in the rain of emptiness—I am dry

 

as a shell high of the tideline, stone

in the gravel of a bluff road.

 

Dry as the moon whose crescent slits

the darkness I’m done looking into

 

for the night. I’m lying

flat on a platform, propless stage,

 

under a ceiling itself like a blank

page—I wait

 

for a dream, its watery ink,

to begin seeping its script

 

down the clay cliffs of my waiting,

here, between thinking and sleep.

 

 


READY

 

Last year’s crab apples, shrunken

and purpled under new leaf clusters

in mid-April—I plucked one

 

hard little nut of a fruit free

of its thin black umbilicus, held

the near-weightless, near-waterless

 

remnant of itself, rubbed its wrinkled

frostbitten old-man skin, and could not

resist digging two thumbnails in

 

to pry it apart, to see for my self,

nested there in its gritty midnight

flesh, a shining dark teardrop,

 

a seed, in its first light

and ready for the wet of the earth

where I let it drop, like a thought.