Today's poem is by Abby Minor
American Quartet
I.
Warren wants us to be anarchists with him in preparation for apocalyptic shortages of quinces
and herbal medicines I I want to be a rapperwith a cameo in G. O'Keeffe's Black Pansy & Forget-Me-Nots. Just let me be a ladder with
the nine green steps.
Just let me be the one attached to flowers and their messages I it's raining and Hey the desert
plants and buttes I saw were the color of make-up, low-
high color and peach fire, concrete and hollow greenand silver and orange, that's the west. I want to move
in groups and be communal, antinomian
and block-printing our own napkins likeat Bloomsbury but also
I'd really like to speak about the wretchedness of justifying art class by saying it'll make kids
better at computer stuff.
II.On this
Warren and I agree: we don't want to dig
a well without a blues
for digging wells. I really can't dig a well
at all and Warren can but having this first
thing in commoneven though he once said art comes
second to survival he gave me thisbeautiful red garlic which he could not have made
without art sowe consider each other companions of the flame.
III.In the shiny woods with my lover by all the crazy
little waterfalls and he started to talkabout Hannah Arendt again. I thought the daylight
moon is thin as a forget-me-not andscratchy on its other side is like pansy black. It's weird
in the mournful eastern mountains wherewe live Kevin said appearances are important like
the "fact" that this spot of good-smelling blueshade used to be an ocean floor
isn't true. I said maybe geological time is likea poem, it can just help you understand
why it feels so interesting here and downin the town I love the new pine siding
on the hut in the communitypark which is a very humble park given for an air
force pilot by his parents. They have these "home-town heroes" flags everywhere now in towns
with pictures of local people who died in war wewalk underneath & there's no song. I'm white
so I think iill I wanted was to be Considered
Suicide/When the Rainbow was a Bluff.
IV.~ Dream: Everyone
in the old school building
in sleeping sacks eatingham pot pie and telling stories
forever but some people would talk too much and I'd wantto be alone.
~ Real Thing: After I put two hundred
and fifty thousand miles on it and got
backed into twice and torethe mirror off on the side of the barn my dead
dad's car finally wouldn't start. Itturned out it only needed a new battery so I cried and
wrote a kind oflove note to my mechanicHarry who makes me think about how all
the people who are different fromyou are also different
from each other.
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Copyright © 2017 Abby Minor All rights reserved
from CutBank
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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