bliss07.25.05

A cold rain falls on the dark streets as twelve bells sound the start of a new year. Elsewhere people are embracing, besottedly welcoming the new year in and ushering out the old one with which they had grown so bored. But, here there is no cause to celebrate another year when one has endured all he can stand in the year gone by. The rain, and the champagne, and the glitter and the laughter all run down the street in one undulating tide. But by the time this potpourri reaches him its joy has been drowned in the dirtiness and meanness of its surroundings. As it filters through the grate splashing down beneath Trey’s feet he is almost overtaken by the sadness of his reflection in its ruddy mirror. The current brings with it the foul stench of a place too long unwashed as Trey looks down through the steel bars at the party’s end. He shudders to think of how far he has fallen. Alone and despondent, he huddles, cold, longing for something, but not even able to recall what it is he’s longing for. Faint half-recollections of a life separated by an unfathomable chasm from his present state muddle his thoughts. Flickering pictures of another time bring warmth to his damp hovel, but he is tortured trying to discern if these are really memories or only unsubstantial dreams of some imagined happiness, they seem so surreal in his present surroundings.

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Ode to a Special Friend07.25.05

When the raindrops slide slowly down your cheek, I am there

When you see the sun, rising on the ocean waters, I am there

When the solemn moon shines all about you, I am there.

When even you may come to lose your faith, I am there

The cool wind knows my aspect.

The sunshine knows my heart.

The waves that on the oceans roll

have seen my inmost parts.

But rams can rest in mountain caves.

As eagles nest in trees.

The hermit crab can take a shell,

But there’s no place for me.

And so I sing life’s bittersweet song,

Of sorrow and of strife.

I play my role; Yes I am here!

As long as I have life.

So see me in the starlight,

Hear me in a song.

And when I can here roam no more,

Only please dream on.

I give my heart, I dance for you,

But wonder, what for me?

And fear that I will yet play on,

Until eternity.

Why don’t I feel the soft rain?

Why sense I not the breeze?

It does not cool and calm my soul,

It only stirs the trees.

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Not a Poem About Driving at Night – Erika Meitner07.25.05

Light production is associated with the survival of a species,
but the insect crawling across my dash seems uneventful—
looks so much like a roach that without hesitation, I kill it.

I don’t realize what I’ve done until my scrap of parking ticket
begins to glow phosphorescent green, specks trailing like radar,
like bridge lights or necklace beads over the odometer.

When I die the Buddha will ask questions. Because of this error
I will be reincarnated smaller.
Murderous girl, what is the speed of light?

What if I were winged and luminous? Could I shatter like a constellation
across the night sky? Could my body light a path through darkness?

All summer fireflies filled the field behind our house with morse code,
with patterns.
Blinking to mate, you said. Male flashing spontaneously in flight.
Love is scientific—we glow, shudder, rest once they come to us.

I think of you steadily farther away, not thinking of me, thinking of me,
getting up from the couch and shutting the lights,
feeling your way along the familiar wall to bed.

Remember my head in the crevice of your armpit,
my ear suctioned to your chest? Something feeds the fire,
then it goes out. They blink, I blink;
red tips to their wings, and no song.

Erika Meitner’s first book of poems, Inventory at the All-Night Drugstore, won the

2002 Anhinga Prize for poetry, and will be out in the autumn of 2003. She lives in Charlottesville, Va.

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