Jan/Feb 2015 • Vol. XXXVII No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 2015 |

After

Beat, heart … The earth has not swallowed everything.        —Machado i The first of the month the cactus gets watered. The jade tree every other week. The tubs Of dumb cane each Sunday. Intervals Like octaves, halved along their cord of days. Sometimes it's not so bad, teasing out rituals—Fridays mean a trip to the supermarket— Sometimes the rituals seem more like chores. Sitting in traffic the other day I listened To a voice on the radio claiming uncontested Happiness was the goal: "You just choose it!" Good-bye Missa Solemnis, I thought, Good-bye "Cooling Board Blues." Sometimes, Home in the flat light of late afternoon, I can't even make my way into the music.   ii And sometimes, out of nowhere, there's a gift, Like the dead tree blooming in the yard. I'd thought its leafing was amazing enough, But there it was, bridal in blossom— The wild cherry toppled by winds last year, Straight-lined behind my garden. All summer I'd mowed around

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Pittsburghesque, CA. 1949

By Robert Gibb

Beat, heart … The earth has not swallowed everything.        —Machado i The first of the month the cactus gets watered. The jade tree every other week. The tubs Of dumb […]

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