Menu

Poetry

Under this skylight many lost things are visible.
I see the mighty black and yellow spiders in the iris beds

by the old garage and feel not a shred of fear.
I could husk two dozen sticky ears of sweet corn

and pick two quarts of strawberries on my achy knees
without whining once. I could hit four baseballs

in a row under the maple trees and over the fence,
the only kind of home run that counts in my private game.

I could sit through the whole Sunday night service
in the stickiest dusk of July and not once imagine

committing the unpardonable sin, just to see
if anything would change. I could sing Just as I am,

thine own to be seven times through and never switch
to “Mr. Tambourine Man” in my head, never dream

of dancing ’neath the diamond sky, just as I am
thine own to be, silhouetted by the sea, without

a single plea, hey, hey, I am weary, play another song
for me, an old song that I’ve never heard, play it

smooth and loud and long, play “The Boy Who Listened
Too Hard,” play “The Boy with Dirt in His Nose,”

play “The Boy Whose Eyes Are Still Closed.”


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

Access one piece of artwork every month for free! To experience the full archive, log in or subscribe.

Related Poetry

Hymn

By

Jason Myers

Adam and Eve in front of a tree, Eve is holding on to a branch and handing Adam an apple

Adam Praises Eve

By

Richard Jones

Coming back from the dead

By

Paul Mariani

Tenebrae

By

Anya Krugovoy Silver

Pin It on Pinterest