Monday, March 30, 2015

NEW! Poem by Carolyn Guinzio

Carolyn Guinzio


If I wanted to mention the flowers, I would say the marigolds seem to be kneeling at 

the feet of the plants that matter more. They seem to be leaning against one another.

Exiles and immigrants make little worlds to replicate big old worlds. They lean.

In supposing a supporting post could be removed, the rehabber was positing beauty

as supreme. Or just the present. There is supposedly a moment when thinking

outpaces the body, an instant of suspension, an outsider trying to blend in 

with the crowd of possibles. But wait and when everything falls back into place,

everything has not fallen. The surveyors are marking with math the exact 

degrees by which a place becomes another. They make a vertical mark under which

the horizontal continues. That partial instant of dissonant friction is where

our land begins. Be sure to bring these directions when you are coming over

for drinks. The kids made a message for the satellite shot, and you don’t want to know

what it said. It can only be seen from a great distance at a single instant a blue

lens lasers its way from a humbling height to the earth. None of us wants to go there.

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