<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As would a child mouth holding a yawn the sun sprinkled as you arched and my tongue tasted of wine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Imagine a forest\u2019s A sky without clouds, Night without the moon, A bed without sheets, Wine without flavour, Lips set without smile, Boughs without leaves, <\/p>\n\n\n\n I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A poet gazes out the window. A man Above pine trees, a plane slants white The poet thinks of home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the city, the hum of sunrise, Milk is still cheap. Love is online. A robin II.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The laptop battery is dead. He sees a new world, III.<\/p>\n\n\n\n On the radio, Rihanna A wedding goes afield,<\/p>\n\n\n\n a spouse hunts for love abroad; Somewhere far but close a chief orders some youth IV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In another place, riven by drought and oil, Twin buildings become ashes, In the smoke, A child cries for its mother trapped A wife lets out agony Crimson, the music of change. A policeman says, The law is the law<\/em>. The poet paints with words The poet continues to scribble, Sparrows can tell the distance The ones lost in the war The rain raids the south. The wind rolls across any field it picks. VI.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Far off, a boy unlearns the magic of alphabets, The wheels of the world go At home, they\u2019ll wolf down pizza and soda. VII.<\/p>\n\n\n\n At last, the poet is worn out. This is the world as is. By the Bed As would a child I lifted my slow body from the covers of sleep mouth holding a yawn I pried open hazy eyes the sun sprinkled diaphanous light like a halo about your lingerie- dressed body as you arched lissome over me smelling of my eau de cologne and planted a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4259,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3760","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3760"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4989,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3760\/revisions\/4989"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4259"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3760"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3760"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3760"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI lifted my slow body
\n<\/span>from the covers
\nof sleep<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nI pried open
\nhazy eyes<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\ndiaphanous light
\nlike a halo
\nabout your lingerie-
\ndressed
\nbody<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nlissome over me
\nsmelling of my eau
\nde cologne
\nand planted a kiss
\nof an angel
\non my dull forehead<\/p>\n\n\n\nImagine a Land<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\nBeauty without trees, earth
\nWithout moisture; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nRiver without flow, sun
\nWithout light; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nA room without hue, floor
\nWithout footsteps; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nFaucets without water, perfume
\nWithout fragrance; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nA kiss without warmth; desire
\nCold as ash; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nYour flesh shorn of fire, me
\nWithout you; imagine<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nFull of wilted twigs: forests
\nIn slow decay; imagine.<\/p>\n\n\n\nA Poet Sees a New World <\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\nambles by in a hoodie, torn Levi\u2019s jeans,
\nclutching a cardboard with Homeless
\n<\/em>help <\/em>inked on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nagainst the palm of blue, streaming a comet tail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nthe scramble for space,
\nthe scramble for bread,
\nthe scramble for pleasure,
\nthe scramble for ego,
\npower, fame, and currency.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nchirps in the tree. Suddenly
\nthe poet sees a new world,
\nthe poet sees a new world,
\nin the soul of birdsongs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nThe poet can\u2019t find his notebook; he grabs a pen,
\nscribbles on a receipt. A sheaf
\nof receipts his thoughts deface.
\nThe poet scribbles away,
\nbacking the old world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nthe poet sees a new world,
\nin the whorl of words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nhas found love in a dim place. On TV,
\na man masks his crime with style,
\nand society lifts a toast to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nin a friend\u2019s arms, a girl bristles
\nat the force of womanhood,
\nanother winces beneath a man
\nolder than her father, whose grip
\nleaves welts on her wrists,
\nyet another sobs,
\n\u2014her mother hovering close\u2014
\nwhile a midwife fingers pubic hairs for purity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nto the poet\u2019s heart, an ex-soldier
\nburnishes his past and retrieves
\nglory with a bile as huge as Obudu;<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nto blow up their heritage,
\nanother chief attempts to snatch history
\nand his blood tells the rest of the story.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nbetween Libya and Iraq,
\na dark symphony pulses overhead,
\npilots flash each other thumbs-up,
\nthen serve a phalanx of bombs below.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nonce a shelter for art and history.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nthe dust and grovelling,
\nbrothers, fathers, sisters,
\nand mothers, lovers, strangers,
\npriests, doubters, and eccentrics,
\nprostitutes, and professors, and pariahs,
\nseek warmth in the shadows
\nof each other\u2019s hope. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nbetween a boulder
\nand an ancient bronze head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nin multiple tongues,
\nshrieking with all
\nthe fire in her small body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nCrimson, the fire in the streets.
\nCrimson, the stampedes and screams.
\nCrimson, the bodies familiar as junk.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nThe nation is no home
\nfor dissidents, or visionaries,
\nor women, unbending as baobabs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\na mosaic of blood
\nodd shoes and earrings.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\n
\nV.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nfast and hard, hard and fast,
\nas if his words were alchemy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nbetween love and death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nhave a story different
\nfrom what survivors love
\nto repeat over soup and bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nSnow storms the north. Worlds apart.
\nTsunami parodies God\u2019s wrath;
\ntyphoon makes a fool of man\u2019s genius.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nOranges thud to the earth, ripen, rot.
\nMaggots grow in the fattest of flesh, too,
\ngenerous and impartial,
\nlike many politicians\u2019 handshakes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nhis life stretched across an expanse of tubers;
\nelsewhere, another boy prances around the park,
\nhis friends hurrah him down the slides,
\ntheir delight a middle finger to precautions:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n<\/em>round and round
\n<\/em>round and round
\n<\/em>round and round.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nAt home, they\u2019ll sip milk and cookies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nThere is no end
\nto the run of imagination.
\nHe breaks into a singsong:<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\n<\/em>As is.
\n<\/em>This is the world as is.
\n<\/em>As is.
\n<\/em>The world as is.
\n<\/em>As is.
\n<\/em>The world.
\n<\/em>As.
\n<\/em>Is. As. Is.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"