Today's poem is by Terrence Chiusano
A Month of Sundays
To say yes is to be
pretty, sort of,
to somebody. That
ask are you it?
A view views an inter-
as if a kind of canal . . .
then uses it to view some
sort of other view. A kind
of barometer. Ridiculous,
maybe, but maybe true.
Is any other, could it be, a book
tooa sort of ship as I felt I've been,
in a slip, or sailing through a sea
of kelp? For the mast I make
a novel, for the hatches and casks,
the rats and the spyglass (avast ye!),
for the buckler and sash, an ear-
and-a-half; and in the order written.
I've never beenonly to one
place, this one; that was years
ago. (I'm still there.) And in,
too (still), an insistence: to dam
a backyard stream, lose my way
in the middle of a city, light
my way because the brightness
of the day gave me a bad map.
Copyright © 2015 Terrence Chiusano All rights reserved
from Colorado Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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