01 July 2011

Christopher DeWeese

[from Christopher DeWeese, this poem also appears in crazyhorse, Issue 79]

The Pier

There is no amusement
a pier can’t do better,
I mean you could think of anything
then improve it
by standing it up
on some timbers
above the mumbled water.
You could take your children
and leave them there,
come back a few years later
and they would all be interns
of one sort or another.
Clouds robe the fog
as if the salted air
were whispering secrets
to itself again,
a blue and hungry wind
teaching the boat-light
a little beginner’s semaphore.
The edge of understanding
scoots a few inches closer,
planning a family
from two parts hesitation,
one part otter.
It’s covered in barnacles
like the kind of shadow
that clanks and rattles,
this ghost I have
all over my arms.
I’m sitting here inland,
stuck deep in the memory
of what it is I’m missing.
Gulls replace the stars
with their messy warbles.
Out my darkened window,
trains fill in the harbor.

Christopher DeWeese

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