Spring 1991 • Vol. XIII No. 2 Poetry |

In God’s Night

In God's night you do not knowwhat comes next.Past the window scurry the leaves of summer, born of the awesome wind. They drag me to a freedom that turns from me, standing blank and undone with pain. Back in the heart of the country, a dark wind is bent on. pushing things around.I cannot explain this burdensome silence, the heady, infectious smell of blood, the cry of the years in the night. Tonight, the shadow of my brother follows me, bearing blood on its hooves. My mother turns pale and crass. In the dark someone called God runs his vain fingersover the treasures in his planet: relics that could still behave like men.

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Author of sixteen collections of poetry, Jayanta Mahapatra’s latest volume is titled Bare Face. He has read his poetry around the world and is widely anthologized. He edits the literary periodical Chandrabhaga. His recent work has appeared in the Sewanee Review.

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