Summer 1988 • Vol. X No. 3 Poetry |

The Blue Umbrella

This is not about the barrenness of winter, A single bird fluting that tired song, But another melody, caught just before Our voices turn to words or faces flex Expression, then drift the way a viewer's eyes Fatigue just as the reel empties, the film Raking its last black edge over and over Against a screen that's now a concrete wall. It is about a landscape we project Backward, recalling our habit of walking Separately yet talking as we scuff The brush before the wind hurrics it past Our idiom—land, sky, each other, A repeated phrase that makes the season Familiar, like a favorite story Told to children afraid and needing sleep. Blue before blue, we predicate our sky Over a landscape lost in measurements Until in loss we take the thimble way, The light seed spiraling down back to That place the children's story starts Where color is a parasol Because the sun's too bright to see. Light gathers in the blue umbrella; The sun balances from an upheld arm. Wrinkling dark, l

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Wyatt Prunty’s latest poetry collection is Couldn’t Prove, Had to Promise. He lives in Sewanee, where he is the Ogden D. Carlton Professor in Sewanee’s English Department. He directs the Sewanee Writers’ Conference and the Tennessee Fellowship Series. He edits the Johns Hopkins Poetry and Fiction Series.

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This is not about the barrenness of winter, A single bird fluting that tired song, But another melody, caught just before Our voices turn to words or faces flex Expression, […]

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By Wyatt Prunty

This is not about the barrenness of winter, A single bird fluting that tired song, But another melody, caught just before Our voices turn to words or faces flex Expression, […]

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