Thursday, April 16, 2015

National Poetry Month: Melissa Kwasny

Moon has names for all her girls: Angel, Darling, Novia. Trees are
pollen merchants when green, the holy color, is at its apex. There
are baby rabbits in the night gardens, eating the world down.
There are scooters to ride after dinner. There are presents to be
wrapped in the thinnest, potable, yellow threads of light. Always,
there are books to cry over. Someone stays up until dawn, when
he smokes his cigarette on the threshold. Someone walks to the
edge of her village, as appearance goes to work on the dark. What
we remember of earth: the rain-washed centers. So that we must
have at one time seen them as panes of glass. If there are three
things that proceed from our seeing - beauty, love, and sadness - 
perhaps it is sadness that casts a shadow betwen the other
two. There are the heart people, the ones we know as children.
There are familiars, who are here to counter despair. There are
companions we recognize as a danger to us - and they might be us.
It's curtains for you, we say, closing them.

- "Clairvoyance (Moon)," Melissa Kwasny