Poem of the Day
Second Dream
By C. S. Giscombe
In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.
In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.
One dreams / with cats / when one / is outside oneself.
While I wrote, a butterfly, that critic, rode my wrist.
The doctor had said he could fix everything / Except the eyes.
I memorized / my whole life in order / to release it
The end of autumn / unfolds in a series of textures and places: / rough towels, the laundry, / the green walls of a place I belonged to.
It will continue to break, and soon, sing, elated by time, after the fact, and failure
As a girl, that’s how you made it / to first base. You didn’t kiss, / you were kissed.
I slept in the back seat like a bad thought.
And Cathay was not China.
And Vietnam was not China
Nor made in China—but close enough.
He will teach me how to seduce / Men, stags, double-winged angels