POETRY

No Shield of Achilles

By

The power is out and it comes—a darkening
cloud-laced sky, cobwebs in acid rain—obscuring
night's concave shield chased with constellations.
The stories are gone. There is no consolation.
Only this darkness now seeps into us—dusk
of the half-blind, old, decrepit, the half-ghost husk
of our civilization. Absence encroaches,
a blank TV slinks up the narrow corridor.
In the window, far away, shadows of leaves
merge, as we merge, into undifferentiated horror.

Rimas Uzgiris' poetry has been published in Barrow Street, Atlanta Review, 322 Review, Lituanus, Prime Number Magazine, The Poetry Porch, inter|rupture, Umbrella, Literary Laundry, riverbabble, Quiddity, The Four Quarters Magazine, The Drunken Boat, Hudson Review, The Lilliput Review, The Literary Bohemian, Per Contra, Presa Magazine and in two anthologies: Druskininkai Poetic Fall 2012 and The Waiting Room Reader: Stories to Keep You Company. Poems are forthcoming in Mayday Magazine and The Lilliput Review. His translations of poetry have appeared in The Massachusetts Review, The Iowa Review, Spork Press, Modern Poetry in Translation, Hayden's Ferry Review, Two Lines Online, The Brooklyner, Lituanus, The Drunken Boat, Druskininkai Poetic Fall 2012, Hypothetical and AGNI. His book reviews have been published in HTML Giant, Rumpus, Words Without Borders and Post Road. His fiction appeared in Writer's Abroad: Foreign Encounters Anthology.

He holds a Ph.D. in philosophy from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and received an MFA in creative writing from Rutgers-Newark University, where he studied poetry with Rigoberto Gonzalez and Rachel Hadas, and fiction with Tayari Jones. He has received a Fulbright Scholar Grant to Lithuania and a National Endowment of the Arts Fellowship for translation. He teaches at Vilnius University.

The power is out and it comes—a darkening
cloud-laced sky, cobwebs in acid rain—obscuring
night's concave shield chased with constellations.
The stories are gone. There is no consolation.
Only this darkness now seeps into us—dusk
of the half-blind, old, decrepit, the half-ghost husk