Pacific Walkers. Nance Van Winckel
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Название: Pacific Walkers

Автор: Nance Van Winckel

Издательство: Ingram

Жанр: Зарубежные стихи

Серия: Pacific Northwest Poetry Series

isbn: 9780295805689

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ for the big answer. No,

      the question won’t pertain to tattoos

      or unmatchable DNA, but to what

      world, under what sun, in what situ

      we go on finding each you, each you,

      the not-missed, the never missing.

      ***

      We stand at the foot of you.

      Bees and swallows rustle the grass

      around half flesh, half bone, half

      here, half gone. Dot of earth: nothing

      owed or owned. Once you were a bud

      in someone’s belly. A swim, a sleep,

      then to crown your way out. Keep

      mum. Keep it to yourself, Little Prince

      of the Reigning Question,

      the would-you-do-it-all-again

      there there, now now.

      Found on the bank of the Spokane River at approximately 2200 W. Falls Street. Adult Caucasian male. This male was 5 feet 11 inches in height and weighed approximately 161 pounds. His hair was dark brown or possibly black. Clothing worn: a pair of black lace-up boots with a brand name listed as “CORCORAN,” a pair of black socks, a pair of light blue denim pants with a brand name listed as “RUSTLER,” a pair of red slightly meshed undershorts, a dark colored T-Shirt with the size listed as medium and a name brand of “EDDIE BAUER.” Dental identification information obtained, no match found. Fingerprints unobtainable.

       —Spokane County Medical Examiner’s Records

      Briefing

      When the intern asks why

      hadn’t the animals eaten this man

      the river months ago washed up,

      the examiner numbers

      his answers.

      An order. Of course. Most

      to least. The day animals

      vs. the night ones. If six,

      thorns. If thy right eye

      offendeth. I doodle.

      My sketch in the place of

      reason: a moustache on Mr.

      Numbers. If three magpies

      flap away. Therefore an

      ambiguity of eye color.

      Sketch it: how weird,

      the moustache needs

      a matching beard. Hair

      today. Eight trumpet vines.

      Twelve solstice winds.

      What had he gone by?

      My reason. God’s hard.

      If one. If the earthly

      life. The this life. His

      other car was a train.

      His Other Car Was a Train

      My tapping for him

      against the Corona. Ding

      at the end of the line.

      The trestle bridge,

      a light table with a lean

      negative him. The fording

      of, the fire in the belly of.

      Getting the outside air

      coming in. Sleet as rain’s

      sequel, and anxious

      were the trees and good

      the green fields pressing forward

      and how great the distance.

      Boxcars with zero sans serif,

      with only space—space

      maybe going somewhere.

      Somewhere, how can we

      leave it now?

      John Doe #130969

      Because he’d brought nothing to unpack.

      Because the house of this field

      was so foreign, it embraced its resident.

      Because the body’s bones shook free

      neither twigs nor grass, while years in a row

      the fir branches shook loose snow on snow.

      Because his dog had quit barking.

      Because the basalt was here

      before the glaciers came and went.

      Because the mouth can’t—however much

      it seems about to try—spit out its clot of leaves.

      Because he was of little faith

      after the con ceased working

      and the war went on, the last pencil

      selling itself short on the street corner

      that likewise won’t be missed

      and won’t, for now, be named.

      Found along the railroad tracks behind 104 South Division Street. Adult Caucasian male. Estimated Age: 60 years. Estimated height of 5 feet 8 inches. Approximate weight 145 pounds. Clothing worn: a long brown coat, a rust-colored shirt, green trousers, black shoes, and a gray hat. There was a tattoo on the right forearm that is possibly a name, but the name was unreadable. Fingerprints obtained, no match found.

       —Spokane County Medical Examiner’s Records

      The River That Runs Above

      The River That Runs Beneath

      Icy maelstrom at its СКАЧАТЬ