November 2013
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founded in 1912 by harriet monroe November 2013 FOUNDED IN 1912 BY HARRIET MONROE volume cciii • number 2 CONTENTS November 2013 POEMS aimee nezhukumatathil 107 Two Moths tiffany higgins 108 Samba in the Sky Medusa on Sansome and Pine daniel tiffany 112 How Many Days Can You Live on Vicodin and Frosty? dilruba ahmed 114 Snake Oil, Snake Bite wong may 115 Buying Camels in Dresden szilárd borbély 120 The Matyó Embroidery Translated by Ottilie Mulzet todd boss 123 Rocket Bravery fady joudah 126 Tell Life ruth LILLY poetry FELLOWS hannah sanghee park 137 And a Lie Norroway in February The Fox Bead in May matthew nienow 140 Bad Year Anthem In the Year of “No Work” phillip b. williams 144 Speak Do-rag Homan and Chicago Ave. Of Darker Ceremonies natalie shapero 151 Thirty Going You Look Like I Feel Not Horses harmony holiday 154 Gazelle Lost in Watts Niggas in Raincoats Reprise Motown Philly Back Again Do any black children grow up casual? THE GORGEOUS nothinGS jen bervin 161 Studies in Scale emily dickinson 168 “In this short Life” “A not admitting | of the Wound” “I gave him leave” “Glass was | the Street” “I never hear | that one is dead” “The | Mushroom | is the Elf | of Plants” Transcribed by Jen Bervin COMMENT tom sleigh 187 To Be Incarnational contributors 207 Editor don share Art Director fred sasaki Managing Editor valerie jean johnson Assistant Editor lindsay garbutt Editorial Assistant holly amos Consulting Editor christina pugh Design alexander knowlton cover art by stephen eichhorn “Cactus Cluster i,” 2011 POETRYMAGAZINE.ORG a publication of the POETRY FOUNDATION printed by cadmus professional communications, us Poetry • November 2013 • Volume 203 • Number 2 Poetry (issn: 0032-2032) is published monthly, except bimonthly July / August, by the Poetry Foundation. Address editorial correspondence to 61 W. Superior St., Chicago, IL 60654. Individual subscription rates: $35.00 per year domestic; $47.00 per year foreign. Library / institutional subscription rates: $38.00 per year domestic; $50.00 per year foreign. Single copies $3.75, plus $1.75 postage, for current issue; $4.25, plus $1.75 postage, for back issues. Address new subscriptions, renewals, and related correspondence to Poetry, po 421141, Palm Coast, FL 32142-1141 or call 800.327.6976. Periodicals postage paid at Chicago, IL, and additional mailing o∞ces. postmaster: Send address changes to Poetry, po Box 421141, Palm Coast, FL 32142-1141. All rights reserved. Copyright © 2013 by the Poetry Foundation. Double issues cover two months but bear only one number. Volumes that include double issues comprise numbers 1 through 5. Please visit poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/submissions for submission guidelines and to access the magazine’s online submission system. Available in braille from the National Library Service for the Blind and Physically Handicapped. Available on microfilm and microfiche through National Archive Publishing Company, Ann Arbor, MI. Digital archive available at jstor.org. Distributed to bookstores by Ingram Periodicals, Source Interlink, Ubiquity Distributors, and Central Books in the uk. POEMS aimee nezhukumatathil Two Moths Some girls on the other side of this planet will never know the loveliness of walking in a crepe silk sari. Instead, they will spend their days on their backs for a parade of men who could be their uncles in another life. These girls memorize each slight wobble of fan blade as it cuts through the stale tea air and auto-rickshaw exhaust, thick as egg curry. Men shove greasy rupees at the door for one hour in a room with a twelve-year-old. One hour — One hour — One hour. And if she cries afterward, her older sister will cover it up. Will rim the waterline of her eyes with kohl pencil until it looks like two silk moths have stopped to rest on her exquisite face. AIMEE NEZHUKumatathiL 107 tiffany higgins Samba in the Sky The poor have the best views, Views sloping down to sea. A green and yellow planet, A blue band, rung with stars. The poor have the best views. You have to walk to get there. Up three flights, narrow paths, Houses rising steeply side to side. No, no space for a car. When the flag lifts, you see the coast: Yellow curve of sand, Framed by reaching branches. Little humpbacked islands, Soon they will drill for oil there, Deep underwater. Once microscopic Diatoms swarmed in salt, danced, died. Fell to the bottom of fathoms, became black Slick hid in shale. They drill down miles ... (Police arriving at the edge Of the mind.) Are you thirsty? Something to drink? Please sit down. Yes, the game is on. We built that room by hand. I lie In bed at night dreaming of a new room, 108 POETRY One jutting into sky. The eldest Daughter’s in university. Economics, But she switched to Environment. Out the door, the flag lifts, reveals. (Curve of Rio.) Ordem e progresso. The poor have the best views, Samba in the sky. tiffany HIGGINS 109 Medusa on Sansome and Pine The woman is daft. Invented her own sect. Has upside-down sex. With alternate species. You see her on the street. Corner of Sansome and Pine: Morning rev up of sf financial types. Instead, there she is, beneath a gigantic hat. Hair wild, in coils, like a rattle- Snake. Smiles like she’s got the shakes. Every cell in her seems to vibrate. Psst! Could you turn that to low ? The gray-suited, heads bent to cement, pass. Edges of her sleeves are threads; Her clothes mismatch. The shoes Are not a pair. She stands as you stare, Or better yet, ignore. You ask Her if she’s fine, and she replies, Fan- Tastic! As if this were the day She’d finally learned to levitate, And her eyes are the doors To a holographic universe, And she looks right through you, As if you too had won the lottery of the soul. And you look down at your shiny, perfectly symmetrical shoes, Like, Man, that’s more than I wanted to know. And — Didn’t anyone tell you you need a reason — A house you own, matching clothes, 110 POETRY Translucent skin, sheen of fashion, A pulsing bank account, like our galaxy always expanding — To feel so friggin’ over the moon? Who are you? How do you justify you? What made you you? What context gave you you? And on the curb you kick, swing, scuff your shoes. The woman is daft. Invented her own sect. Probably has no sex, or too much. With any species. She hasn’t yet learned That happiness is contingent — It depends upon The things aforelisted. She’s just riding on the being of being. Hedonist. On her hand, a rock As if, eons ago, the glacier had swung by and deposited A boulder on her finger. The elemental pinned to her. The woman is daft, I tell you. Adrift. Steer clear. The glint In her — shield your eyes. Downcast. Don’t let it get to you. She will die Alone — while you, you’ll have — Have — Resist. Do not, I say, do not Long for that magic. tiffany HIGGINS 111 daniel tiffany How Many Days Can You Live on Vicodin and Frosty? Poor thing, she holds him on her lap, the godless hidden god, causing the lips of those that sleep to speak. Cold shadow of the white acanthus in its tiptoe dance. Buy the truth and sell it not. A lion is in the streets, there is a lion in the way. My niece, the little siren, taught her the slang: mad married fiancée. Dido has a quiver, she wears a spotted lynx skin and a belt. My undefiled is not herself tonight, but one thing’s forever: I just saw the video explaining the neighborhood applause, a book of anthems where sirens plunge into the gold of the initials at that karaoke party for her 112 POETRY boyfriend. We cooked up all the goodies and fauns came through the windows. That’s her thing. “I like this path to darkness” she keeps saying. Whatever party fame is doing to her chances for a quick trial. Even Barbarella, my inner child, can’t touch her goldilocks. By dawn you’d know if she was going to be back or not. danieL tiffany 113 dilruba ahmed Snake Oil, Snake Bite They staunched the wound with a stone. They drew blue venom from his blood until there was none. When his veins ran true his face remained lifeless and all the mothers of the village wept and pounded their chests until the sky had little choice but to grant their supplications. God made the boy breathe again. God breathes life into us, it is said, only once. But this case was an exception. God drew back in a giant gust and blew life into the boy and like a stranded fish, he shuddered, oceanless. It was true: the boy lived. He lived for a very long time. The toxins were an oil slick: contaminated, cleaned. But just as soon as the women kissed redness back into his cheeks the boy began to die again. He continued to die for the rest of his life. The dying took place slowly, sweetly. The dying took a very long time. 114 POETRY wong may Buying Camels in Dresden Like all great rivers The Elbe is familiar at first sight. The barges spic & span as the front parlors Of model homes in Saxony — The steam paddle-wheelers & other vessels, No less impeccable — all run With a near soporific efficiency. You lean out & the land starts up: The parcels of pastures & castles Bearing with them trees & cows & cattle-grids the crowned heads of daisies Little knots of human habitations, Cigarette factory & garrisons Floodplains, sheet pilings Run All run, As if by an engine, Some cement breaker from under the river torn turfs all Bob up & down, Brown like bears in bear gardens The cupolas, cavaliers Their ruinous sandstone reflections alongside.