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A Poem by Brandon Shimoda

by Brandon Shimoda
September 7th, 2018

The Grave
The sky might
strike you
off balance



And the reedy milk
of yellow hair
streaked across it
fills the ear
sends (up) the
vulnerable skin

 

If you see a grave on the wall,
it might mean there is a light source behind you.

The light might not be
permanent.

 

I thought I had finally found my place

The sparks set finally on the sill
And how the sparks grew faces
I did not know

I was waiting for
prefiguration

 

Let me sit here on this step
For a minute
I am tired
measuring personally

sparks set finally on the sill
need to be alone
need it to be late




give now each self another life?
sparks are white
with a yellow suggestion
aging
orange in the woods

burned off the ceremony

I showed up with six drinks

I challenged the children
to imagine they were
on the bottom of a lake

sky above hundreds of feet
of glacier-cold water—

All the children ran first to the window
To look directly into THEIR valley


From the window glass to the mountains,
four miles in the distance

 

sparks set finally on the sill

The flattened fuses
of anarchy

 

You think there’s hope when
Having been hopeless
Look up to see a limb
of paling green hearts
Attached by a thin flat ventricle


And where there is no water
Nor suffrage, hell-blue sky

 

 

 

This poem is an excerpt from Brandon Shimoda’s The Desert (The Song Cave).

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