Today's poem is by Kascha Semonovitch
Let me speak to you of the strange.
You don't know it. It is above all
Unseen. As vision is knowing is action,
The first thing we do with the strange is
Put it in a box. A red box, a stripped
Wood box, a tin used to fish. Excellent are
Windows, latches, or peep-holes, for pleasure. Whereas,
The first thing we do with the stranger
Is greet him. The stranger has speech
But may or may not use it. While,
The strange chokes on its own silence.
The strange belongs in a cabinet,
The stranger in a chair. For the stranger,
You should put out the only rug.
For the strange, you may seal it in ajar
And go away. The strange:
Beyond exotic (what you have not met but have
Catalogued). And the stranger, stranger.
The strange does not face you unless the face
In cut bark does, trompe l'oeil curves that say
Nature sees you. Nature does. But
Like a good player, she says,
Why show your cards when you've already won?
Copyright © 2009 Kascha Semonovitch All rights reserved
from Crab Creek Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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