Daily Special
I have yet to hear a poet who is as gifted a storyteller as Maj Ragain. I am admittedly quite biased - this is the man who I consider my first true poetry mentor. This piece is from his book, Fresh Oil, Loose Gravel.
A Man I Knew
~ Maj Ragain
A man I knew
spent years one winter
making a fence of his own ribs.
Took his weather as he willed
in that circle of bone
in the yard outside his house
of five rooms and twenty-seven windows.
He had three names
and forgot them one by one.
When he was certain he could not remember
he invented for himself the trick
of confusing the teeth nailed in his jaw
with the stars he watched.
He made a necklace of both.
Held his fist up
thought the knuckles
mountains of another country.
The mark of that season
upon him was a mask of frost
like beaten silver.
It was how he saw and why.
I cannot sleep in a warm bed
look for him from my window of six panes.
He is there in the darkness
in his picket of bone
the bark gnawing at his wrist
Cassiopeia a flame dancing
at his shoulder.
~~~~~