Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Fishing the Rogue River


Fishing the Rogue River

Shot in the head in the war
a sonata leaked from his mind
as he parted the liquid
to retrieve his gun
and found instead a steelhead skeleton
and a faux raccoon hat
wrapped around a rusty hook
dangling from a Sunday past
when little things were big
as fire crackers on the Rogue
and the great world out there
didn’t matter at all.

The best part of sickness
is the floating,
but then the mind fries
as you sicken
and your toes turn to sand
paper and you feel like
hurling forgiveness
as far away as you can.

In his mind tall grass
a gesture
of unraveling
that can't be held
mysteriously moving
before something
is seen. He returns.
The Rogue River
welcomes him in.

There are too many memories
to hold on to.
Like a bullet ridden coke can,
the background fades.
Some will have to go.

Beyond Reach, in Deceit County,
was a village town of sea, wind,
and honey. They didn't see
change come as love poems
were traded in for war poems
and the building of tombs
became a primary industry.
Foggy mausoleums crowded
out the broken statues of Peace
and Prosperity, original papyrus
scrolls by Sappho were used
to clean mortuary tables and wrap
dead bodies in. Young men
were buried at night, the wounded
hidden from sight. The day
defeat came, the rich
politicians of Deceit County
decided to declare victory
and the patriots of Beyond Reach
waved yellow ribbons and cheered,
unable to see what was lost.

In death, there is nothing
like any other thing.
The distant shore is too vague
to remember. A child conceives a mile
as a year on paper
whose clouds are always too heavy
to lift where a crayon burdened
hand may draw a gate but never pass
through it. We dissemble
our neurons into worlds,
into villages,
and churches but do they really
ring bells when we pass through them?
We are,
we are all liars to ourselves
who carry on our shoulders the weight
of our own ultimate defeat.
Sunflower mantra the world awake.
Fry its parts.
Better to run naked but clean.


Scott Malby

Posted over on A Little Poetry

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