Published on Academy of American Poets (https://poets.org)


Little Errand

I gather the rain


in both noun
& verb. The way


the river banks
its flood, floods
its banks, quiver’s


grammar I carry


noiseless, easy
over my shoulder.


To aim is—I think
of his mouth.
Wet ripe apple’s


scent : sugar,


leather. To aim
is a shaft tipped


with adamant. Angle,
grasp, aim is a way
to hope to take


what’s struck in hand,


mouth. At the river
flood so lately laid


down damage by,
geese sleep, heads
turned under wings


wind tests tremor
in like archery’s
physics shifts


energy, potential
to kinetic : flight—


but not yet :


this grammar’s time
to string a bow, draw
taut the air, send rain


from quiver to verb
to aim to pierce


the scent of such red


flesh. Hope’s arrow’s
anatomy : thin,
feather’s fletching


trembling, it
crests to end


in brightness.

Credit


From Companion Grasses (Omnidawn, 2013) by Brian Teare. Copyright © 2013 by Brian Teare. Used with permission of the author.

Author


Brian Teare

Born in Athens, Georgia in 1974, Brian Teare is the author of several poetry collections, including The Room Where I Was Born (University of Wisconsin Press, 2003), which was awarded both the Brittingham Prize and the 2004 Thom Gunn Award for Gay Poetry.

Date Published: 2015-05-05

Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/little-errand