Spring 2002 • Vol. XXIV No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2002 |

Porte des Morts as Neutrino

Today the road is pure allegory—leaves down, the woods a city of bones,  acres twisting on acres. I think of my own body, how each second the smallest of particles pass  through me at the speed of light. How we are regions of emptiness.  How inside us there are miles of woods just like this,  autumnal & capillary. I am walking the road on Death's Northern Door. This is the year of Justification. These are its rudiments: faith & grace. At the end of it all, there will be water & a great cliff. In the summer  one I love will choose to go over & then climb back, the shale  loose beneath her feet Who has never wanted to be fields of nothing? Now in the shoals the salmon are massing. I watch them  from the precipice, their gray skins  hanging in shreds. What is it like to feel yourself die on the bone? To empty? The Doctrine of Justification claims salvation lies only in grace, meaning  He chose to be voluminous for us. A guns

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Quan Barry's latest book, Water Puppets, won the AWP Poetry Prize. Her debut novel, She Weeps Each Time You're Born, will be published by Pantheon in 2015.

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Today the road is pure allegory—leaves down, the woods a city of bones,  acres twisting on acres. I think of my own body, how each second the smallest of particles […]

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