time travel

The Hermit Goes Up Attic

Up attic, Lucas Harrison, God rest
his frugal bones, once kept a tidy account
by knifecut of some long-gone harvest.
The wood was new. The pitch ran down to blunt 
the year: 1811, the score: 10, he carved
into the center rafter to represent
his loves, beatings, losses, hours, or maybe
the butternuts that taxed his back and starved
the red squirrels higher up each scabbed tree.
1812 ran better.

Maxine Kumin

2003

WHERE?

There's a place the man always say
Come in here, child
No cause you should weep
Wolf never catch such a rabbit
Golden hair never turn white with grief 
Come in here, child
No cause you should moan 
Brother never hurt his brother 
Nobody here ever wander without a home
There must be some such place somewhere
But I never heard of it

Kenneth Patchen

2008

Same as It Ever Was

One. A pregnant pause. A flash in the pan.
One sip of whiskey, then the burn in your throat.
A redacted redaction.

Two options, one fate,
someone dozes in the middle of the day.
Where’s the source utterance in an echo chamber.
Nightfall lights lights,
grapes come in clusters.

Mónica de la Torre

2020

Poems

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time travel

The Hermit Goes Up Attic

WHERE?

Same as It Ever Was

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