Bio Note: I am a retired teacher, tried to retire from poetry but it didn’t take, live in a small cabin on a small lake with my wife, Patti See, a prose writer who and has hundreds more readers than I ever will. I try to love her anyway. My work has appeared in Poetry, The Nation and on the Writer’s Almanac.
Poem In That Language
you never learned, the truths of it buried across seas unsailed in a foreign land below a hill unscaled ablaze with flowers you cannot imagine, trees like generations of ghosts you have no name for. Its worth like loose change in the ears of a stranger. Its melody, as you speak, its music escaping you beyond translation. Its vital rhythms busy at lives you’ll never live, eating meals you’d never order with wines of strange vintage with lovers unbidden that sunny or sunless day, that one night textured like velvet, or silk, or cotton.
Maybe In This Poem
I am playing catch with my kids, throw them a hundred grounders and a couple dozen high hard ones. We throw as long and far as we can arching up into the eye of the sun in a sky too blue to breathe or to believe they will ever come down. Or my daughter and I are dancing in the kitchen, the tinny little A.M. tuned low to some distant static city fading in and out, twirling and swaying, dipping and laughing in the almost dark that day she wouldn’t have forgotten.
©2021 Bruce Taylor
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