The Fiddleback

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Pretend Winter

Gather up this sentiment,
the feelings that you’re feeling,

& shove this blind racket
like hands in your pocket,

your heart like a sun burning
cool in the winter, oceans running

dry like an eye that can’t cry
or a teardrop directed wrongly,

all these things an anchor,
the objects exploding, the dreams

you’ve been dreaming worn down
like stardust or some Romantic

burning in the morning because
it’s morning somewhere.

There’s a dawn in my head
& it’s vibrant with beauty

or it’s yellow with faltering.
There’s something that’s broken.

We plug up the bleeding with sutures
or hope, we linger in moments,

loitering astronauts. We’ve got
one eye casting out & one holding

on to the blue of the day that we left
behind. There’s a collection, this

wreckage, that’s brewing. We need help
to figure out whatever it is we’re doing.

The Purport of This Advice

Who doubts himself keeps

honest in this light. 

I have never seen        such bright

as when           I saw today

fully                             in a reflection of sun

         on your shoulders, traced the outline

of buzzy flight under my palm.

Even now              alone          & eyes

closed              there is that burning

afterimage        that presence

spent out                     speeding away now

though each cluster

sweetly pink.  Their beauty

grazes me.

It all shines past me.

 
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Nate Pritts is the author of four full-length books of poems, most recently Big Bright Sun (BlazeVOX, 2010) & The Wonderfull Yeare (Cooper Dillon Books, 2010). He is the founder & principal editor of H_NGM_N & H_NGM_N BKS. Find him online at www.natepritts.com.

 

Volume 1, Issue 1 Back to top