(no subject)

[penguinboy.livejournal.com]

After the Weather
by Mary A. Koncel

Yesterday a man was sucked out of an airplane over the blue tipped mountains of Bolivia. He didn't cry "emergency." He didn't buzz the stewardess. He just dropped his fork, opened his mouth, and let the wind gather him inch by inch.
The other passengers agreed. This was real life, better than the movie or chicken salad. They leaned out of their seats, envying the man, arms and legs spread like a sheet, discovering raw air and the breath of migrating angels.
Below, an old peasant woman beats her tortilla. She never dreamed that above her a man was losing his heart. Perhaps she was a barren woman and, when he landed, she'd say, "Yes, this is my son, a little old and a little late, but still my son."
And the man, he thought of wind and flocks of severed wings, then closed his eyes and arched himself again. He didn't understand. His head began to ache. He understood Buicks, red hair, the smell of day old beer. But not these clouds, this new, white sunlight, or the fate of a man from Sandusky, Ohio.

(no subject)

[silverflurry.livejournal.com]

Lilac

I should take out the lilac beside the house
Before it roots
Into the fieldstone foundation.
But every spring, I say the job will keep
Until after the lilac blooms.

The vanity of the lilac's flowering
Is in the brevity of those white or purple blossoms.
The rest of the year, it is a woody weed,
Dark-leaved, serviceable for a border or a little shade,
A sermon in humble usefulness.
(The saint's severity, Freud said,
Is the proof of desire. And what is greater
Than the pride of the outwardly humble?)

The lilac's bark is tough, and rasps the knuckles.
The sap clings to the saw, and the wood
Is dense, purplish at the heart,
Surprisingly heavy in the hand.
It might bloom all summer, without reproach.

This too is vanity, I thought,
As I took the saw from its nail,
As I ran my fingers over the purple rings of the wood.
Something should be made of this.

Jordan Smith
For Appearances
2001 Tampa Review Prize for Poetry
University of Tampa Press