Eclogue How sudden they seem, the gradual lives of flowers, or the faces you see in the brief light of a "B" stop taking, as you always do, the "A" train. Michael Anania (b. 1939) "Eclogue" by Michael Anania. Reprinted with permission of the author. Hysteria I know I know I took in too much but the tree was there with its enticing skins, the garden intolerably quiet, the snake so colorful, resolute, I thought if I could just fondle the fruit... but now, Please God, I want to go back to the beginning of the day so I can say no thank you: it's all considerably more than I can handle. Susan Hahn "Hysteria" from Harriet Rubin's Mother's Wooden Hand by Susan Hahn. Copyright © 1991 by The University of Chicago. Reprinted with the permission of the author and The University of Chicago Press. Two Uncertainties "There is eternity to blush in." —Djuna Barnes Around the attic bird, the century is silent; gathers utter ghosts in scattered dust displays. Afloat in that window, not even a star approaches like a dog. Nothing is left to desire; rain in open cars, gasoline fires. History is ending. We are not, however, among those voices off. We are the ones in prose whose form is finally shapeless, except for these constraints. With the labor of planets turning, please bind us to a version of ourselves. Paul Hoover (b.1946) "Two Uncertainties" from The World no.54 by Paul Hoover. Copyright © 1998. Reprinted by permission of the author. from Of Royal Issue O little bird, how small you are, small enough to fit in a palm, no contender, a featherweight. Perhaps we can pay the boy to trick you out of the bush, and trap you, and bring you in to this spot by the window where your little song may amount to more than a tablespoon's worth of salt. The glass will quicken your call, multiply it, multiply your nervous figure and your habit of play, until you are not one bird but a hundred, not one tongue but a thousand, sweet prophesy... Brigit Pegeen Kelly (b.1951) "Of Royal Issue" (excerpt) from Song by Brigit Pegeen Kelly. Copyright © 1995. Reprinted by permission of BOA Editions, Limited. Beautiful Days Blossoms lift the branches So the birds move. The first leaves shine. These are nice days, shipshape and fair. Birds over all Are moving. But then I think, they Are happy and gay, They do not know What life does. Mary Kinzie (b. 1944) "Beautiful Days" from Ghost Ship by Mary Kinzie. Copyright © 1996. Reprinted with the permission of the author and Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Days of Our Years It's brief and bright, dear children; bright and brief. Delight's the lightning; the long thunder's grief. John Frederick Nims (1913-1999) "Days of Our Years" from Zany in Denim by John Frederick Nims. Copyright © 1990. Reprinted with the permission of the author and The University of Arkansas Press. from Heavy Tells a Story When Heavy tells a story the millwright shanty under the blast furnaces chokes with quiet, amid the roar, as Heavy pauses, adjusts his mountainous weight over a creaky grease-stained metal chair and looks up at the whirling ceiling fan next to fluorescent lights hanging by wires. His fingers lace like so many sausages across the canvas of blue workshirt on his chest. Luis J. Rodriguez (b. 1954) "Heavy Tells a Story" from The Concrete River by Luis J. Rodriguez. Copyright © 1991. Reprinted with the permission of the author and Curbstone Press. from To the Infinite Power You do all you can to undermine the reality of an ordinary day. Desperate passions are your pastime, though, including this time, you've had only one of these, lasting all your life. When your heart climbs two feet in your chest, you think of new discoveries in mathematics: strangeness numbers, absolute elsewhere, and the baffling graphs that try to chart baffling galaxies. You tell yourself, "He didn't come into my life to make it simple." With the basic love assumption that other loves are lesser, less intense, less necessary, and your solidity fluttering in mid-air, you're the ideal fool to live through all this feeling. Alane Rollings (b.1950) "To the Infinite Power" (excerpt) from The Struggle to Adore by Alane Rollings. Copyright © 1994. Reprinted by permission of Story Line Press. Wind Drunk Women Wind drunk women may leave most men to cry over raw pink skies and lazy gardens, but like the moon, they must do their dreaming by day and sleep when no one is watching. Cin Salach "Wind Drunk Women" from Looking for a Soft Place to Land by Cin Salach. Copyright © 1996. Reprinted the permission of the author and Tia Chucha Press. A Piece of the Storm for Sharon Horvath From the shadow of domes in the city of domes, A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your room And made its way to the arm of the chair where you, looking up From your book, saw it the moment it landed. That's all There was to it. No more than a solemn waking To brevity, to the lifting and falling away of attention, swiftly, A time between times, a flowerless funeral. No more than that Except for the feeling that this piece of the storm, Which turned into nothing before your eyes, would come back, That someone years hence, sitting as you are now, might say: "It's time. The air is ready. The sky has an opening." Mark Strand (b.1934) "A Piece of the Storm" from Blizzard of One by Mark Strand. Copyright © 1998. Reprinted by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. The Flower On If you were the flower on this blanket, resting soft upon my shoulder, I would whisper to you (my mouth against your petals) of the wings that flutter over us while we sleep. Mark Turcotte (b. 1958) "The Flower On" from The Feathered Heart by Mark Turcotte. Copyright © 1995, 1998 by Mark Andrew Turcotte. Reprinted with the permission of the author and Michigan State University Press.