by G. E. Schwartz
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This Novel of Us
——–My great aunts were all robust. I
Still have two. Do yours come
——–Vividly to mind at mention of a
Comment at first glimpse of the
——–No longer new baby? “Look at
The X nose on that little face!”
——–(or any kinship-logo-feature they
Spot, or believe they think they
——–Do. That may be why the X
Family keeps a keepsake, a
——–Portrait of great-grandfather Joe
In the dark on the front stairs
——-Landing but not near enough
—————-For you to stand and just view it.
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What Lingers Still
——–Last year’s pussy willows branch
About all winter in a dry pewter vase.
——–Their round drum table is back by
The drapes where the east windows
——–Begin. Yesterday, finally, May’s
Sun felt warm on the skin. This morning
——–As it mounted towards zenith, one
Shone-in shaft played, puss by puss
——–Slowly, up the southmost stalk of
The pussy willows. Why, its playing
——–Music, a slow progression towards
—————-The final full treble salute.
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Slow Beginning
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——–Thankfulness overflows from the gold rim
And royal purple of this rainy day’s low
——–Dawning. On the muddle of not yet un-
Differentiated clouds stray marbling streaks.
——–None of it could be eyes full-on, no scald
For nakedly receiving day, almost before
——–It is launched. (Anticipatory, that watery verb?)
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G. E. Schwartz, the author of, Only Others Are: Poems (Legible Press), World (Furniture Press), Odd Fish (Argotist online), Thinking In Tongues (Hanks Loose Gravel Press), Murmurations (Foothills Publishing), and The Very Light We Reach For (Legible Press), lives in West Henrietta, New York
RUNDELANIA 