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SILVER APPLES
Der Apfel fallt nicht weit vom Stamm.
German Proverb
I have worn you, a white chemise against
my numbness, when I lie down at night.
I am so bright in these dark hours, moths
hover over me, little ghosts attracted
to my shine. Daddy, you were mine.
I leave you. I leave the country, arrogant
in its stupidity, to rub pages of poems—
I inflame, a spark against a vein, I stumble
on cobblestones, long before I lose feeling
in my feet. In vineyards, I set fire to your picture,
watch your ears curl, your mouth, too full of noise.
I have chanted Dante Alighieri and watched us
become soot. There are Polish towns where peasants
wring out nappies. When I ask you where you came
from you don’t know, but I think you were
born on the barn, like the Luna moth that hatched.
How green you glow against the red wood.
You enter my ears at night. Luminous engine,
you work and work and work. Arbeit
Macht Frei, you and I are a country
of farmers and serfs. I sop up your blood
with the brown bread my husband has baked
in his oven. You will fly back to me, sooty spirit
with green wings, eyes of a man of Arles.
Another circumstance, another year of wintering,
as I am summering now. Daddy, soon you will be
in a place I cannot touch. In Donegal, it is already night,
and I let the loose soil of us sift through my fingers.
All fathers tell lies, all writers are liars.
And at Yeats’ grave, in the mossy town of Sligo,
cats stalk moths under a host of silver apples.
Laurie Byro
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the girls of summer
i need not search
for the girls of summer,
need not write to them
beneath a bright august
moon, rustles of soon
turning maple leaves
voices pitched, laughter
tussling with organ music
from the county fair
ferris wheel slightly blue
red yellow orange smooth
hair tumbling, smoother
skin, smoothest hands
footsteps tiptoeing
to quieter avenues,
bathing in orange
yellow blue red
i need not search
for the girls of summer
i observe them beneath yellow
moonshine flooding my street,
shadow dancing beneath stars
if one looks in
on me tonight
she will surely
darken me
Tim J. Brennan (68degrees)
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