I hope you'll enjoy this cross-section of her distinguished career. So dark the night, so close the line of trees, it is as if we had gone under the earth, or the ill- colored wick of moon was the lantern astern on a ship that had cut us adrift. Moths swim up in our headlights like ghost fish darting in black water.
I hope you'll enjoy this cross-section of her distinguished career. So dark the night, so close the line of trees, it is as if we had gone under the earth, or the ill- colored wick of moon was the lantern astern on a ship that had cut us adrift. Moths swim up in our headlights like ghost fish darting in black water.Tags: Usc Admission Essay QuestionIntroduce A Quote In A Research PaperOne Paragraph Essay StructureTemp AssignmentsReview Of Literature Of Satisfaction PaperCes Brown ThesisA Thankless Experience EssayCreative Writing Masters LondonThe Experiment Essay
Editor's note: I'm pleased to present a brief anthology of Deborah Pope's poetry, including three poems from her debut volume Fanatic Heart Passage; Two A.
M.; Hard Climb Road five poems from Mortal World Leaving; Radiant Season; Les Voyeurs; Resolution; and Boy Blowing Bubbles and five poems from Falling Out of the Sky Lines from the Book of Days; Cura Animarum Outside Canaan, West Virginia; Pavane For Sleeping Children; The Third Lesson: Betrayal; and The Angel Yet to Come.
In Virginia, the new road’s half done, shale shingling up where the cut is rawest.
My sons sing out at every crane, thrill through blasting zones.
And I thought back to the last tired words you had spoken, of that late winter midnight you sat with the knife, thinking only how and where you would do it. It was your own white arms that stopped you, the thin curtain of skin, the pale, raised ribbons of veins.
Innocent arms, you thought, how can I hurt them, the quiet in your voice as you told me, its own separate finality.Already your knuckles look like coral on the wheel. Some large nocturnal animal is chuck-chucking on the porch, and a skitter sloops the roof like squirrels or first rain.The children sleep in shapes they will settle to in time on the ocean floor, their bones uncollected, like a necklace broken in the sand. I listen to the tinker of dark, the creak I hear as wind and not wind, think of women bloodied in their beds, nipples sliced, the head on a shelf, there may be tapes, the authorities won’t say, they say this beats all.So young, they forget even this as it happens, will hardly remember a figure so spectral and frail.I remember holding old prints of her in furs and leghorn hat, laughter rare for photographs of those days, the backdrops a lawn lunch or running board, beaux with bears and pocket swags.A Greensboro station plays oldies in the car, and loss only lasts till the last dance. Airy, we pick up two lanes through Cana, Galax, and Fancy Gap, past the hillbilly markets and stands, molasses, apples, and Dixie kitsch, trailing pony-tailed girls in pickups.The day is cool and clear, a weekend to dream, or retrieve, of family rides in fall, a peaceful film unfolding of southeastern hills and farms, silos and satellite dishes, sheep still as stones in the fields.And I thought suddenly how I wanted to forget you, forget everything, that moment go utterly blank, so that I could come back and remember it all from the start to that waiting, alone in the fresh, cold night and the rain ticking, ticking.If you come soon, the budded tips of campion will be split, the deep cerise of coronaria, such delicate velvet on the study, silver-green stems, you cannot help but feel them, and if it is morning, the wild carrot rimmed with dew along its fronded leaves, its thick, hairy stalks, I will spill in your palm the brimming wet petals of milky froth, and touch your fingers to the tight, indigo buttons of bush pea, and the cupped yellow silk of sundrops.Voting signs fly by, lifted in the wind that stirs the weeds in unhitched harrows, petunias in painted tires.At Morgan’s Landing, in their giant alembics, the nukes bubble and brew.