Poem of the Day
Consecutive Preterite
By Jessica Laser
That summer I learned Biblical Hebrew / with Christian women heaving themselves / toward ministry one brick building at a time.
That summer I learned Biblical Hebrew / with Christian women heaving themselves / toward ministry one brick building at a time.
I’m a sad case, really: little things please me.
—Len Goodman
I drove 50 miles to buy a birthday present.
Why: not so much bigheartedness
as pleasure in the process—
It had to be some poet from Brazil
not one of the greatest, more likely to make a fool of himself
shuffling around somewhere in your vicinity or aspiring to dwell there
Over rooftops, over time
the rain washes. And walls
that had watched men die
All of you no doubt have felt
the soft sleep, the sweetest dizziness
easing you down on the bed
A child pointed at the sky, made it his,
and then he points at the one he loves
and suddenly it’s his sky,
When I look at myself I see a stranger.
So obsessed am I with feeling
That I sometimes lose my way when I step free
From all the sensations I receive.
I’m going to make a poem out of nothing.
Heads up, false friends use familiarity as camouflage.
In the source language deciduous might be confused with apathy,
but nothing could be further away from desidia than the timed impermanence of leaves.
News / has it that late in the month the sun had an outburst
It rises from childhood
like a humpback whale, water
streaming down the grill,