nthposition online magazine

Town well & The 8 motionless clouds

by Sandra Simonds

[ poetry - september 04 ]

Town well

It was a well. That was
my vote. Straight down and through
democracy. I asked the waters where are
you? and what
do you think they told me?

A line of grass around the well
you fall
or all is well
and it isn't
(as you know)
(you are my
friend).

Was the well a well
or was it as un-giving as
the circles around the eyes
or eyes are cinders in the skyline
- are they stars? -
(won't be needing you again).

The child was warned
        "It is democracy or a bucket."
I shook my crooked finger.
The child was warned.
        "It is a well and all that isn't."
I was Hopkins with some tinfoil.

We wish you well, our little well
of waters and tarnished coins.
It is a country but then again
a we
so we
saved
all of our dimes and nickels.

 

The 8 motionless clouds

Heresy.
The mirror sea.
The 8
motionless
clouds come
down despite
the efforts
of our crew.
Infinity.
the mirror-y
slabs of marbled face.
The 8
come down
and that
is that.
Easterly
wind, west-one,
equal sign,
or
bread crumb
the 8
come down one
by one.
Liberty,
the C chord,
minor
key, fortune cookie,
ripe red fruit
of anarchy
none of it
was saved: not the
homeward face
nor the planks
we built to
beat against,
the 8
came down
and we
did not look
away.