For figments and vanishing acts, from Jackstraws.
from The Return of the Invisible Man / by Charles Simic, b. 1938
The invisible man, it turns out, had a daughter,
Equally ethereal.
He wants to know, have I bumped into her lately?
You bet, I says to him.
For anyone who needs reassurance that the future probably won’t be like this, from Rattle, Summer 2016.
from Dear Citizen / by Ron Koertge
The letter you received last Tuesday, the one with
the official seal, was not meant for you. We hope
you have not read it.
If you’re reading this, you may be one of those people with this particular joy in life, from Poetry Magazine, June 2016.
from As I walk patiently through life / by Daniel Berrigan, 1921-2016
As I walk patiently through life
poems follow close —
When under stress, try Tate. For the care and feeding of the imagination, from The Eternal Ones of the Dream.
from Behind the Milk Bottle / by James Tate
Once as a river of molten lava
poured through my living room
I was cut off from my emergency kit
For undecipherable lilacs, from The Star by My Head.
from You Have to Practice Reality / by Werner Aspenström, translated by Malena Mörling and Jonas Ellerström
When your sister comes to visit
you often talk of lilacs
as if lilacs were an extinct species
and did not bloom new each June
in halls of mild honey and the songs of thrushes.
For our daughter’s 15th birthday today, from The Art of Drowning.
from On Turning Ten / by Billy Collins
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.
For Mr. Knox and Dad, from Fox in Socks.
from Fox in Socks / by Dr. Seuss
Through three cheese trees
three free fleas flew.
While these fleas flew,
freezy breeze blew.
Freezy breeze made
these three trees freeze.
For moon rocks and Cork, from horoscopes for the dead.
from Memento Mori / by Billy Collins
It doesn’t take much to remind me
what a mayfly I am,
what a soap bubble floating over the children’s party.
For Seville and Córdova, from The Burial of the Count of Orgaz & other poems.
from Tauromachian Emblems / by Pablo Picasso, translated by Jerome Rothenberg and Pierre Joris
Ibarra (Don Eduardo) Seville
blue turquoise and straw yellow emblems
For seashells and telephones, from The Half-Finished Heaven.
from Under Pressure / by Tomas Transtromer, translated by Robert Bly
The restless shadows in my head want to go out there.
They want to crawl in the grain and turn into something gold.
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