After My Name Is Spoken
A poem by Meridith Gresher
There is a blade of grass so thin in my hand
it is translucent. I see the sky and cut it into
portions
to take into my lungs. Through these eyes of green
and the stalk of
green
the clouds accumulate
interested in why I watch.
They suppose I might wish dandelion seeds into the
neighbor's yard.
Instead I close my eyes to the terror of death
and open them to colors so real they must be pure.
Orange-blue hues.
The sky must mean that life and breath can float
beyond our bodies.
I see through the canopy of oak trees that reach like
Roman columns
triumphant confident. Oaks will not fail but will
stand
erect and honorable long after my name is spoken.
The sky knows
I turn to you and ask for your hand.
Your fingerprints will not stain but will last long
enough
to make me warm, human.
I shudder
though the sun is stagnant, high at noon.
Fall 2006 Poetry:
READING HOPKINS IN PALOS VERDES
by Andrew Demcak
REFLECTIONS ON WRITING by Jann
Burner
THEY BUILT A WALL AROUND THE OCEAN
by Lily Bower
VISITING CAVE CREEK by Nicholas
Messenger
PUBLISHER'S NOTE and ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
by Benjamin Bucholz
THERE IT IS by Hannah Price
GEOMETRY AND A LETTER by Laura
McKee
SENEGALESE GROVE by Holly Day
AFRICA by Kathryn Wagner
DEFINITION OF A TREE by Christine
Hamm
AFTER MY NAME IS SPOKEN by Meridith
Gresher
SHAPES IN THE AIR by Carolyn
Syrgley-Moore
NEITHER FISSION NOR FUSION by Ed
Tato
CLEAVINGS by Hank Kalet
A PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by KC Wilder
WHAT YOU WOULD CALL A LOOSE GHAZAL, I
REGARD AS
ANOTHER SMALL, BUT NECESSARY, STEP TOWARD RECOVERY by James
R. Whitley
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