Barbara Louise Ungar
Regular pronouncements about the moribund state of poetry consider mostly the big fish who swim in popular grounds, while the depths are teeming with undiscovered creatures. We are all swept along together, on regularly reversing tides, which none of us can escape, but merely look curiously at our near neighbors as we pass.
How the dead live on in us,
how we learn they do not die—
how their photographs possess their souls
as if they still breathed.
Tullus, I’m not afraid to sail with you
the Adriatic or Aegean blue;
with you, I’d trek those peaks of Scythia’s,
or farther south than Memnon’s palaces;
but my girl hugs my neck, and blocks my path,
and begs, and blanches, and turns red with wrath.
Audio of the week
Cover image is "Just Remain," a painting by Akiko Nishiguchi