Featured Poem: “October Heat Wave, Remembering August”

A different kind of time— the movement of things, soapy water

descending her body the way a river pulls soil from its banks.

All morning, the electric man clears laurel branches

from the high-tension wires. Oil of bay leaf in her mouth.

Dog days, she skirts the San Anselmo storefronts,

hoarding their slivers of noon shade.

She asks her husband if he knows— do deer speak? Next night

a lost fawn bleats and bleats, throat like an old bedspring.

Window cracked for air. In the old language, the sound of her coming

like the cry of a trapped gazelle. In any language.

-Robin Jacobson

Published in the 1999 Alligator Juniper Issue on the theme Nature & Psyche

Advertisements


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s