Genevieve Kaplan :: 3 poems

 

That’s a sound woodpeckers make, rightly so, on the roof

 
to ease the movement of the gesture here and there
 
the day is long, for what it is, and the sky
brightens and fades at once
 
the plums swell in the heat
 
outside it’s day and outside
it’s night but a shadow is coming
 
not the camera
not the accelerator. not the deepest
shock. the sweet moment of reaching
out, of cutting. the never-once
of the morning.
                           if this day is new, and then
so what, if the snipping occurs, if one
can tell a story to the roses
if one can tell a story
 
this one day, this
 
 
 
 

(cage) (tree-cage)

 
the light-headedness
of those darting
beneath the tree (cage)
(tree-cage), the quail.
rustling, the jutting
the yellow leaf
to signal the beginning
of the turning, the motion
about to arrive
(I read this.
I sat in the shadow.)
 
 
 
 

It is so sweet this sugar, the sugar

 
and it meant something and it meant something to me
soothing in the springtime though the seeds eaten
 
and it meant something and it meant something, something
in the springtime, through the seeds, prowling out of the night time
windows open, sash ajar, novices out (outshone) the bars, the slats
not as far away as we would like. soft (no). a hiss
to the monument of dusk coming quickly. how ought
I introduce it? how might it to me? soft time of the world, soft
hour of the hard night