Today's poem is by Jay Deshpande
Elegy for a Year
I'm going to get drunk tonight, in my home, by the side
of my own side, like a fishing village preparing for winter.
I'm going to ui:iite myself with the hair of every former tenant
of my disconsolate thirty-year form. Something stifles
through the tender-grass. Strokes the pond on its hot slept heart.
I reach for my ghosts like Horatio. When I wake up again,
the day will have a saddle on. Even though it's not yet sun o'clock.
Flashback, New Year's: my friend drops the hatchet on the hatchet
on love, and I can't ignore the clacking in my shirt pocket
any longer. I reach up with a hand of milk: inside I find in threes
the small cool stones I meant to leave on the shelf of a memory
of the persons I lost. It's what you do when someone's family tree
falls in the forest and no one is around.
April rises like a giddy burn, its fists of one night
trading badges with the constables of the next.
I want to be shorn again as much as I want to never go back.
When someone lets me speak my anchor-song to Central Park,
spraying enormous air over the summer-ready company,
I feel briefly guilty. The crank I turn the world with
is such a hot thing. It uses the lungs of others like a coal-engine.
And it is for this reason that tonight I will be alone.
With my madness. With my menu of hors-d'oeuvres
with dug-out cores. And when I wake up again
to the tune of another year older, a clock in the sink,
I'll see me as the remarkable being at the center
of a flat myth elephants think of as they sleep
on the talkative plains. I'll be there among the tusks inside of me.
With the thing I hold that holds the thing I need.
Copyright © 2016 Jay Deshpande All rights reserved
from Love the Stranger
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Support Verse Daily
Sponsor Verse Daily!
Web Weekly Features
About Verse Daily
Submit to Verse Daily
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
Copyright © 2002-2016 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved