Another Poem in Which You Appear
you’ve made it difficult,
moon,
to write about you.
from Keats to cummings
poets have loved to flatter you
and you let them.
now, your name in a title or first line
frightens reluctant readers who believe
they know all about you.
and they’re right—
after all your descriptions
gorged on junk adjectives
or starved of brisk metaphors
abound—
disc, balloon, galleon
clock, lantern, pale, bright
and the very popular gibbous.
even though you draw
joyous thousands each month
to watch you preen
the idea of you on the page
hangs worn faded.
isn’t your basic problem that
no words
ancient or modern
can catch
or match your luminosity
or your ability to reflect
whatever it is we seek.
.
Not That I Don’t Want to Practice Mindfulness
it begins with a mind twist—
to wiggle out of bad feelings—
don’t—
face them don’t run
I thank my habit of fight over flight
for knowing step one—
……………..stand where you are
step two grates into the bone—
……………..accept all arrows and missiles
take them by the hand to rooms
of bright yellow
bathe them, feed them
wrap them in soft robes
adorn them with your birthstone
listen to their whispers
and perhaps a song will appear
without music
.
In Palermo
I pose in front of the rich stone
of the cathedral’s portico,
my husband a dark shadow
as he readies to take the picture.
Behind him, an old man spits
on the courtyard,
an old woman crumbles
on the cathedral steps
hugging a flat pan in her lap for coins,
and a young man walks toward me
waving Saint Rosalia holy cards
splayed like a full house.
My husband calls from the shadow—
And I smile as he clicks.
.
In South Carolina
Taken quickly
by a stranger named Joe
my heart rises
Above us the fan spins and hums
about the end of summer
The edge of the air
beats long white curtains
out an open window
The pink tablecloth blinks
when he crosses the room
opens the door
and flies out in a quick blur
My heart rises
in some small restaurant
on some vacation
in South Carolina
© Marie Gray Wise
Marie Gray Wise‘s work has appeared or is forthcoming in various literary journals including Loch Raven Review, I-70 Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, English Journal, U S 1 Worksheets, The Paterson Literary Review, Hamilton Stone Review, The Café Review, and Naugatuck River Review. She is a retired English teacher who has lived most of her life in South Jersey except for an adventure in San Francisco where she found a husband and dragged him East.
The Loch Raven Review 