The Narrows

By CHRISTOPHER DEWEESE

 

The water oh the sounds
trapped between two bodies
when the gulls break down
into the waves
and I’m on one shore and you are away.
I raise my spyglass
sort of like a cheer,
drink you in my good eye
until darkness comes,
a backpack full of liquor.
Driftwood forts turn the years
inward like harmonicas
until we become the babies
policemen chase away,
their heavy beams
probing for monologues
across the sudden water.
It’s been a long time
since Divinity School,
but I still wear a tie,
even when I’m sleeping.
It makes me feel like something tangible
depends on me
to establish its gravity,
hanging like a lodestone
when I wake up.
I’ve been weeping
in the nature poem
buried just beneath this one,
a melancholy lyric
whose bears mistake me
for the kind of ghost worth nuzzling.
The images keep deepening
and I go down with them,
pawing the tucked-in dirt
like a living vibration
until I can’t see anything
but the words I’ve been
yelling this song.

 

Christopher DeWeese published his first book, The Black Forest, with Octopus Books in 2011.

Click here to purchase Issue 01

The Narrows

Related Posts

and all the amazed girls...

and the amazed girls….

ELEANOR STANFORD
I turn over the soil, my son chattering beside me. He wants to talk about time, its intransigency and evasions. Our hands breaking up the clumps, pulling out old roots. / In another possible world, another peaty bed. Time, slippery and permissive...

JDD Headshot

No Alphabet

JOANNE DOMINIQUE DWYER
If not for the lust of women, there would be no alphabet. / Save for the breaking of traffic rules, there would be / no Cubism; no fractured light scrutinized from subways / or kaleidoscopes in the tool belts of surveyors.

Snowfall

Reach

IAIN TWIDDY
As if he was pelting for a winter, / his hair returning, the closer he gets, / to that flossy, watchful, infant softness, / like the idea of an angel’s wing; / and how would it feel, as cotton as snow, / … should I reach out, / cup his skull as he once must have mine…