Nearly
When we slid out of the lane.
When my sleeve caught fire.
While we fought in the snow.
While the oncologist spoke.
Before the oil spilled.
Before your retina bled.
Beyond the kids at the curb.
Beyond the turn to the forest.
After the forest turned to ashes.
After you escorted my mother out.
As I led your father in.
As the dolphin swam the derelict canal.
While the cameras filmed it dying.
While the blackout continued.
When the plane dipped.
When the bank closed.
While the water.
While the water.
And we drank it.
Copyright © 2019 by Idra Novey. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 25, 2019, by the Academy of American Poets.
“Over several years, this poem expanded to three pages then contracted to a mere six lines, changing states as dramatically as water does with the rise and fall of temperatures. Allowing the poem to change states this way felt in sync with how the poem tracks an ongoing awareness of the planet's deteriorating bodies of water and, alongside that awareness, all the private bodily experiences that drive earlier painful memories to surface in the mind each day.”
—Idra Novey
Idra Novey
Idra Novey is the author of several novels and poetry collections, including Exit, Civilian (University of Georgia Press, 2012), selected for the National Poetry Series by Patricia Smith, and The Next Country (Alice James Books, 2008).