Waiting on Results

By NICHOLAS FRIEDMAN

In a dark, wood-paneled studio, I’ve sat
for three full days, an eremite with neither
cup nor cause. As hours accumulate,

I watch my thoughts return to one conjecture:
the endgame that is neither lost nor won,
but brings itself to bear on every creature

with rules we never could quite settle on.
Instead we love, and say that it’s enough,
each day approaching the meridian

which marks, invisibly, our turn from life
toward that lacuna of imagination.
We toil like pilgrims up a mortal bluff

that has no view, but is our final station.

 

[Purchase Issue 14 here.]

 

Nicholas Friedman is a Jones Lecturer at Stanford University. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife.

Sunna JuhnWaiting on Results

Related Posts

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part Two

MEGAN FERNANDES
White people don’t like when
you say:
white people.
White people
like to remind you
that you are Indian, not black.
Black people
never say that to you.

skyline

Three Torabully Translations

KHAL TORABULLY
Only a gashed murmur of gangue / remains at this crossroads of salts. / I notice the sharp-edged tattoo / of a forked harpoon when my memory festers. / In the black of dawn, pure métisse, / my uprooted flesh will no longer give respite to exiles. / And my life’s only protector is Death.

feature

Poetry and Democracy: Part One

Lawrence Joseph and Vievee Francis
He will dream/ into existence a raft, a rocket, a fort of mud./ From a cloud/ a gift of horses./ From the sandcastle and moat,/ kingdom and cause. Every boy knows he is a lone king,/ that above hover dragons/ from which he cannot withdraw