by Martina Reisz Newberry
for Djelloul Marbrook
The mountains are perfect
this morning so I re-read
your perfect poems.
Knit two, purl three,
knit two, purl two
and there on the page
is a scarf in hearty woolen
adverbs and adjectives.
I would do nearly anything
to know that someone
lingered over my images
as I do yours and
I would do it twice to find
you’d borrowed
one of my phrases.
You must know that
your poems, so beautiful they
are treacherous, paralyze my pen.
Oh, I realize this isn’t
an appropriate way
to show gratitude, nor is it
an answer to my reflection
in the cracked mirror
of my own regrets.
This morning, my friend,
I found autumn
and the sea,
and terror and love
and wonder and pain
and such enviable
nourishment
that I can never forgive you.
Yes, I am tired,
and even the surreal sky,
even the spirit-filled mountains
don’t rouse me to action.
I read instead—read
Your poems and sip at
a Mimosa because it’s
never too early for champagne
Last updated August 05, 2011