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 Contents | July/August 2001 In This Issue (Contributors) More on poetry from The Atlantic Monthly. |
World
by Talvikki Ansel .....  Hear Talvikki Ansel read this poem (in RealAudio)Olive green of pond water, tea- colored is the newt's body. Legs stroking, it floats close to the surface, lazily circles the dock's posts, a fish swallowing in the shallows. Its feet once walked moss, logs— a world and name, eft, left behind. Pinpoints of vermilion freckle its skin. It nudges under foating leaves blown down from the trees. Saturdays, the zebra-striped plane flies up from the neighboring fields. Its roar follows the tree edge, our pork-chop-shaped parcel of land, turns back at the boundary. Over the woods, over the dock, narrow trails and deer paths, the dead tree where the vulture roosts. A finite number of times the engine will go up, up. The zebra in the circus ring prances round. Rises the snapping turtle's triangle face from the mud. My wishing to nudge the days larger, longer. A girl's run in the woods at dusk—blue shorts the hunters saw briefly as the deer's flickering of blue sky.
Copyright © 2001 by The Atlantic Monthly Group. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; July/August 2001; World; Volume 288, No. 1; 120. |
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