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Marcel Brouwers, The Old Cities forthcoming from Sundress Publications |
The Stone Bench
It’s not enough the neighbor cat climbs it,
or pauses. If I thought to lay out milk,
we’d be friends. But for the poured concrete
my yard is of the lush rest of growth,
wisteria and the choking grape, the late
surprise-lily erupting like night lava from space,
kudzu, a word reminding me of war words,
fubar, which it is. & the like. & is how
we know seasons. Which explains
the possum ignoring mute hummingbirds
slurping the Rose of Sharon dry, wingbeats
a blur, this world not helping but be close,
the soft silent whisper of teeth & nails.
Marcel Brouwers
from Jet Fuel Review