M A Y 1 9 9 8 ![]() PLUNDERby Debra Bruce | |||||||||||||
Hear Debra Bruce read this poem (in RealAudio): (For help, see a note about the audio.)
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Now that your surgery's savagery's smoothed over and the calm you've put on is balm for all, and in the interstices between catastrophes you find yourself enjoying joy; now that your why? is wisely subsiding, knowing no one knows why one grows gold slowly and one's bright green gets torched overnight; in this intensely present tense, in its rush of cherished perishables, you might splurge skyward, spreading your colors in a free fall never dared before; or with minimal fanfare slip into the life you left, the least predictable most delectable, in whose midsummer noon you pop a flip-top in thirst, and think . . . and though you simply sip, deeply drink. Debra Bruce is an associate professor of English at Northeastern Illinois University, Chicago. Her most recent book of poems, What Wind Will Do, was published last year. Copyright © 1998 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; May 1998; Plunder; Volume 281, No. 5; page 86. |
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