Quandary

All night I flew the dark recess of God’s mind. It was arranged like Iowa fields— not a damn thing missing. You ask how I survived. I lived on a message, broad light at the end of the world. Words, they have so much in common with departure, the clouds elliptical & nervous. Why translate? It’s just a revolving door. “Chill wind” has seven components. One is loss.

What If the Invader Is Beautiful

In the tallgrass
where all gold starts

wind became
my additional lover.

His hand the inflorescence
one finger partially gone—

Lovegrass/
Panicgrass/
Witchgrass./

I carefully researched
how to bait my trap.

Took the small blonde charmer
out of town.

Stealer of cholla,
eater of sun murdered plants.

I knew it would die coming back.

Ajo lilies
now up to my waist.

What blackened
the opal knowledge—

What his ghost finger traced.

Louise Mathias

2017

Larrea

Moved the jackrabbit
from the road, laid her under
a bush. Land of little

shade, we do what we can.

One sport is crying while driving.
Another the daffodil light.

All the mornings I’ve found you,
been found.

I’m just eating a sandwich with Sarah,
when the wind picks up, and her hair

becomes another,

crucial, planet. Night running off
with itself. Away

from your star. So soft
is the fur

of the currently—

Louise Mathias

2016

The Problem of Hands

And how to fill them 
is the problem of cigarettes and paint.  

First time I felt my undoing 
was in front of 

a painting—Sam Francis, I believe.  

Oh, his bloomed out, Xanax-ed California.

I liked the word guard, but you know

we made each other
nervous, standing too close

for everyone concerned. All art being 

a form of violence
as a peony 
is violence. 

Here you come

with your open hands.

Louise Mathias

2013

Poems

Quandary

More by this poet

What If the Invader Is Beautiful

Larrea

The Problem of Hands

Poems

Page submenu block

Quandary

More by this poet

What If the Invader Is Beautiful

Larrea

The Problem of Hands

Newsletter Sign Up