It is Wednesday. And Wednesday morning poems are the best. More from self’s newest poet discovery, Mary Ruefle:
Replica
You’ve wasted another evening
sitting with imaginary friends,
discussing the simplest possible
arrangement of an iris.
The sky, too, like a delicate dress
streaked with bleach, has been thrown away.
Once you wanted to be someone else
or another thing altogether: an iris in April,
or only its pistil, just that, a prayer so small
it was only rumored. What can it matter?
You know now your own life doesn’t belong to you,
the way a child defects into his childhood
to discover it isn’t his after all.
Still, on this and other evenings,
only another replica of thoughts
has been lost:
your life has its own: intact, far distant,
and unknowingly you have devoted your lives
to each other.
at Izura, toward dawn,
someone walks down toward the sea
astonished you have taken so long.
From the author’s bio on the back cover of Mary Ruefle: Selected Poems
Mary Ruefle has published ten books of poetry, including Cold Pluto and Tristimania. In addition, she’s published The Most of It, a book of prose, and Go Home and Go to Bed!, a comic book.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.
Kanlaon 