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Most days come
along like a child
kicking a stone
down an alley
or like the way
the mail lies
in the mailbox,
its flag up. But
sometimes as
you wander into
some old worlds,
you feel yourself
gliding on the morning,
maybe looking back
over your shoulder.
Ridl, Jack. “Likely” from Saint Peter and the Goldfinch. Copyright © 2019 Jack Ridl, with the permission of Wayne State University Press.
It’s the birthday of Stephen Crane.
On this date, Michelangelo said yes
to the pope and gathered his brushes.
At the church next door, the choir
is rehearsing. There is nothing
I want to rehearse. Recently I’ve
been realizing, “If that didn’t exist, I
would never miss it.” I say it a lot.
But not about you. We put isinglass
over the screens on the porch so we
could sit there in sweaters, take the time
to see what was in front of us. Now
She stares at his players who turn him into aging wood, make him sexless as his little finger. When he tries to talk to her, his sentences dissolve, the nouns and verbs all floating mute into the sky's blue ear. He knows why his players lift and curl. He sees them tightening their belts. Bodies that well built should build a house, knock a bully on his can. But after practice, Coach can only see his daughter getting in their cars, feel their muscles sweating on her skin.