Words Have Wings

Raven Woman

—Poems by D.R. Wagner, Locke, CA

—Anonymous Illustrations Provided by D.R. Wagner

FEVER

Talking to her was like recalling
A landscape I had seen in a fever.  The
Summer was upon me and I had been
Feeling the rhythm of July.

The heat had hands and often held me too
Tightly, making me think I had heard something
I had not, but was sure I had.  Her voice
Seemed to find distances within me
That had real substance, overly familiar,
Even intimate.

She disappeared into a silence
I could not comprehend.

 CHOOSING

“This is lovely.  I will use this,”
I said to the world, or at least
This room.

I shall keep the poem there
With lots of simple clothing.
Its people of little speech
With eyes that gaze through
My own.  I will give it your name
To wear for awhile and I will love it.

I will build a small roof over it,
Put it in the garden and make
Up songs for it that are very beautiful.

Tonight we can go to it.  We can hold
Hands and together we can make a song for it
That is lovely.  We can use it in our lives.

PLEASING THE SHADOWS

This place is full of mysteries and shadows.
It has no need to make sense.
It is as beautiful as a wing.
Perhaps if I light a candle.

Candles can look at sorrow much better
Than I am able to do it.  I like to close my eyes
Knowing the candle is burning against
All mystery and owns its own shadows.

This is beautiful enough to not want
To destroy any of it.  I could see the fire
In the heart but that was not what makes
It beautiful.  I remain part of the candle.

Words have wings.  They fly through
My mind as if it were a shrine to wings.
Streams of color wrap themselves
Around everything.  This pleases all shadows.

I am learning to speak to loneliness.
It says much and pretends to say more.
I have had dreams like this, so I know.
This is as useful as sound is to the blind.
It is as useless as a garment is to music.
It carries itself well and is seldom hungry.

There are spices in everything, even
Loneliness.  Emptiness can
Fill great holes, otherwise impossible
To ever walk across.

I trade things to it, like my breath or parts
Of dreams I no longer need.  It is all cloth
To any emptiness.  A candle flickers.
Footsteps echo for a long time here.

I try to explain.  The candle gutters out.
I have plenty of wishes to dance with.
When emptiness needs to find an ending,
It will appear.

from D.R.'s upcoming book, Storm Footed:
 

LEMON

She secretes a lemon scent on me,
Tells me “Everything you want to feel,
Everything you want to taste.”

I start the car.  There is a sticky substance
On the floor of the vehicle.  I am unable
To get my foot off the accelerator.
I hear the tires exploding and see
Showers of sparks fly up behind me.

A great silence.  I seem to be lifting
Higher and higher above the earth.
I‘m not doing that at all.  There is
Only the blank faces of the stars.
They reach down and squash
Lovers like mosquitoes, a constant
Buzzing in the ears.

THE CASTLE TINKLES IN THE WIND
AS IF MADE OF GLASS

This is the true hour.
The opening of the hand to reveal
All are still here building our litanies.

I suppose we will all die.
Everyone seems to have done it.
We all, finally, chose to forget this place.

In the alley someone is screaming,
Trying to wake the stars,
Great wires dangling down
Snarling traffic as if it didn’t matter.

An entire collection of echoes
Heads off towards the endless plains.
Someone is trying to memorize
The patterns of the streets
Hoping there is a song somewhere
In their curves and intersections.

Soon we will know who we are.
I read it in a book, my dear,
It must be true, just like a world
Without violence, the dove landing
On our shoulders, its feet sticky
With blood.  We do not realize it can’t see.
Still, we welcome the moment.

We rise out of our mouth, pick up our masks,
Create our myths, walk out into the garden.

We never see where the bullet
Comes from.  There will be a sting,
Then a deep warmth as if one were praying.

The sky overflows with stars.
There are tears in our eyes.
We begin to feel as if we were
Walking in deep snow.
Everything becomes a murmur.
We begin to believe even the water
Will keep us from drowning.

________________________

Today’s LittleNip:

Cram your head with characters and stories. Abuse your library privileges. Never stop looking at the world, and never stop reading to find out what sense other people have made of it. If people give you a hard time and tell you to get your nose out of a book, tell them you're working. Tell them it's research. Tell them to pipe down and leave you alone.

—Jennifer Weiner

___________________________

Our thanks to D.R. Wagner for providing this fine Fall brunch to start off the weekend. D.R. is working on a new book, Storm Footed, with Dave Boles of Cold River Press. Below is the cover; for info and pre-sale pricing, go to www.coldriverpress.org/.

And don’t forget to turn your clocks back tonight! A gift of an hour…

—Medusa

 Wraparound Cover of D.R. Wagner's soon-to-be-released book,

Storm Footed (Cold River Press)
Celebrate poetry—and new books!

Photos in this column can be enlarged by clicking on them once,
then click on the X in the top right corner to come back
to Medusa.