{"id":1602,"date":"2011-09-08T12:06:23","date_gmt":"2011-09-08T16:06:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.gadflyonline.com\/wpblog\/?p=1602"},"modified":"2012-07-15T20:12:01","modified_gmt":"2012-07-16T00:12:01","slug":"two-poems","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/two-poems\/","title":{"rendered":"Two Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Early Morning in the Side-Yard<\/strong><\/p>\n

On the garden’s wall<\/p>\n

thighs and fingers pressed together<\/p>\n

pressed white\u2014\u00a0 cold with dew<\/p>\n

bits of mulch stick to our feet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My mind goes back\u2014 around itself<\/p>\n

Speech sits in my throat<\/p>\n

force it to dormancy<\/em><\/p>\n

turn out your eye<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The old stars make way<\/p>\n

A bird sings alone, in fits<\/p>\n

The night turns blue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She sees and she hears<\/p>\n

lets it run over her<\/p>\n

lustrous as a leaf in rain.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A worm falls out of the ground<\/p>\n

pushes through the mulch<\/p>\n

blindly feeling for softness.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The sky gives up its pattern,<\/p>\n

grows the dew thicker.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Do not blink do not speak <\/em><\/p>\n

She knows the light of day,<\/p>\n

so undeniable and airy in the early.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Look above the fence <\/em><\/p>\n

Look into or through the trees<\/em><\/p>\n

It has introduced the choir.<\/p>\n

That bird does not sing alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Could you speak? Could you,<\/p>\n

when the face of Earth is set<\/p>\n

in fresh, cold blue, even mutter?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The worm has found soft earth.<\/p>\n

The birds only grow louder<\/p>\n

It is over, night is over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So she leads me<\/p>\n

into the moist lawn.<\/p>\n

We fall into broken dance<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lift her<\/em><\/p>\n

her legs wrap around me<\/p>\n

we fall beside the rose bush<\/p>\n

into the mulchbed<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sitting in Bed, All Night, Just Home<\/strong><\/p>\n

Against the steady drone of AC,<\/p>\n

a sharp heave\u2014 and my cough mixes<\/p>\n

with the sterile vent current.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To go back to that red hammock<\/p>\n

would be a dream, a dream<\/p>\n

wrapped in thick Spanish talk<\/p>\n

in more thick air, all informed<\/p>\n

by a wandering ocean sigh.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Such a dream, but there’s the gong<\/p>\n

of the dumpster. There’s the cicada cry<\/p>\n

and the whine of floor beams<\/p>\n

leaning together underfoot.<\/p>\n

There’s my blinds all orange,<\/p>\n

as they will be all night,<\/p>\n

from the parking lot lights\u2014<\/p>\n

one of which is curtained by ivy<\/p>\n

overgrown and filled with birds<\/p>\n

who converse freely,<\/p>\n

hours, still, before dawn.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My throat cottons.<\/p>\n

As there is no cold dripping<\/p>\n

can of beer sitting<\/p>\n

on a stool just within swaying reach,<\/p>\n

it stays that way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Clouds in my forehead,<\/p>\n

push my eyelids down, collapse<\/p>\n

my midsection. May I, at last, slump<\/p>\n

into my sheets? Settle, settle<\/em><\/p>\n

my skin whispers through cotton.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Matt Conover currently studies creative writing as an undergraduate\u00a0 at the University of Virginia. His poems have appearred in Glass, Garden and The Last Romantics<\/a>. He wrote this post, and thinks it’s fair to post his poems on the site he works for so that his readers can get a sense of where he’s coming from. He welcomes all criticism.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Early Morning in the Side-Yard On the garden’s wall thighs and fingers pressed together pressed white\u2014\u00a0 cold with dew bits of mulch stick to our feet.   My mind goes back\u2014 around itself Speech sits in my throat force it to dormancy turn out your eye   The old stars make way A bird sings […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":14,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,223,219,199],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1602"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/14"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1602"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1602\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3268,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1602\/revisions\/3268"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1602"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1602"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/gadflyonline.com\/home\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1602"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}