It is Hard to Breathe in a Tight Grave...

MARCH
—James Wright

A bear under the snow
Turns over to yawn,
It's been a long, hard rest.

Once, as she lay asleep, her cubs fell
Out of her hair,
And she did not know them.

It is hard to breathe
In a tight grave:

So she roars,
And the roof breaks.
Dark rivers and leaves
Pour down.

When the wind opens its doors
In its own good time,
The cubs follow that relaxed and beautiful woman
Outside to the unfamiliar cities
Of moss.

____________________

So, did March come in like a lion or a lamb? The day was heart-breakingly beautiful around here, but the evening did bring rain. I wonder who makes the final pronouncement...

Tonight (3/2), Poetry Unplugged (Luna's Cafe, 1414 16th St., Sac) presents poet/performers Ethnic Theatre Workshop from Sacramento City College, 8 pm.


SPRING IMAGES
—James Wright

Two athletes
Are dancing in the cathedral
Of the wind.

A butterfly lights on the branch
Of your green voice.

Small antelopes
Fall asleep in the ashes
Of the moon.

______________________

ARRIVING IN THE COUNTRY AGAIN
—James Wright

The white house is silent:
My friends can't hear me yet.
The flicker who lives in the bare tree at the field's edge
Pecks once and is still for a long time.
I stand still in the late afternoon.
My face is turned away from the sun.
A horse grazes in my long shadow.

______________________

IN THE COLD HOUSE
—James Wright

I slept a few minutes ago,
Even though the stove has been out for hours.
I am growing old.
A bird cries in bare elder trees.

_______________________

SNOWSTORM IN THE MIDWEST
—James Wright

Though haunches of whales
Slope into whitecap doves,
It is hard to drown here.

Between two walls,
A fold of echoes,
A girl's voice walks naked.

I step into the water
Of two flakes.
The crowns of white birds rise
To my ankles,
To my knees,
To my face.

Escaping in silence
From locomotive and smoke,
I hunt the huge feathers of gulls
And the fountains of hills,
I hunt the sea, to walk on the waters.

A splayed starling
Follows me down a long stairway
Of white sand.

____________________

See the current issue of Poets & Writers for an article on James Wright's son, poet Franz Wright.

—Medusa

Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)