February 2015
Before I drag my butt into work every morning, I sit in my car in parking lots—the only public places left that don't come with a soundtrack--and read poetry. Currently, I'm into Merrill Gilfillan, Steve Scafidi, Tom Clark and Tom Hennen. My new book of poems is Appalachian Night. It is available from me at no cost: just email chineseplums@gmail.com.
Fistfuls
In memory
The light,
thin as an overdraft notice.
The yellowed currency
of the maple
crumbled,
worthless, beautiful.
There were no
moneychangers,
and the temple shone.
Visitations
You died in spring.
I go in fall
not to the grave but
past the hog farm
where you lived one year
to a plain
dotted with baled hay.
I go there because
the mountains
rise and the sun
warms all
that has been gathered.
Reading in the Car in a Parking Lot at Dawn
Because
there is silence.
Every word is bright
in the baroque
instrument
of the ear inside
my skull.
I attend.
In the sun the dew
is crowning
flowers, setting
fire to their heads.
Credits: Fistfuls first appeared in Crate; Visitations first appeared in 42 Opus; Reading in the Car in a Parking Lot at Dawn first appeared in Heron Tree.
©2015 Mark Jackley