Poem of the Day
1981
By Asiya Wadud
in a world the orange sun resets
in a world the orange sun resets
I wanted the gigando set in this corner here,
the 36 incher under the row of cornapples
hung just as the greasy greasy grannies done.
She bought it because her baseball player didn't want her to,
because her playwright and her President and her Attorney
General disapproved. You're a star, they said—the one
Old wolf, I said,
leave a tatter
for my family:
A trick of October light
made festive the trek we
took to the empty beach,
Inside the picture it is 1903-late spring or early summer.
The three women sit on the front porch steps,
a potted fern to their right on the middle stair,
Deirdre was almost ebony. She washed your boxers
and folded them neatly inside your backpack.
When I came home from the Cape, you'd painted our bedroom
Hopper never painted this, but here
on a snaky path his vision lingers:
Three white tombs, robots with glassed-in faces
Imagine starting with that option
(a deistic turn of faith, or generosity?)
each lens minutely tinted a petition-
Call it a lack;
Lacking the ability
To stop at a certitude,
Voice
from the grain
of the forest bought