Nat'l Poetry Month, Pt. 28!
"[if it ever happens that the fire goes]" (2009)
Someone I love has died. I am certain, but I cannot tell who.
A bird that sound like a cuckoo calls the hours like an old
clock, only not the hours we mean. I think I see into each
day, but it is every thing in its turn reflecting the sky,
tossing back what it is shown. Through the window, an owl
announces tonight's neatly wrapped package of bone and
fur. There is no rope swing unraveling in the moonlight. You
cannot hope backwards or in reverse.
--Lisa Olstein
from Lost Alphabet
Someone I love has died. I am certain, but I cannot tell who.
A bird that sound like a cuckoo calls the hours like an old
clock, only not the hours we mean. I think I see into each
day, but it is every thing in its turn reflecting the sky,
tossing back what it is shown. Through the window, an owl
announces tonight's neatly wrapped package of bone and
fur. There is no rope swing unraveling in the moonlight. You
cannot hope backwards or in reverse.
--Lisa Olstein
from Lost Alphabet