Menu

Poetry

has walked barefoot
over the waters
and left a trace
of toxic silver

that now seeks to infiltrate the soft memory
of mollusks and sea grass,
of idle crabs at the waxing crescent,
of these creatures made of water and prayer
that we too are made of.

Slowly, cautiously,
we’ll be returning to the Renaissance symmetry
of the shell’s interior,
to the soothing sound of vital signs.

We asked for a different miracle
(neither light, nor trumpets, nor fish multiplying
in outrageous excess).

A more intimate gesture
and drier,
more akin to the handful of salt
we too are made of.

 

Translated from the Catalan by Sharon Dolin

All translated work in this issue is supported by a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts.


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

Note to My Sister from Notre Dame

By

Fleda Brown

Prayer

By

Sharon Cumberland

close up image of lilies lit by sun through their petals.

The Unpronounceable Psalm

By

Nicholas Samaras

Every One Such as I

By

U.Z. Greenberg

Pin It on Pinterest