Today's poem is by Paul Guest
The Flesh
Walking to get medicine
for a pet, I am temptedto speak of the flesh
a last time and fall silentupon the subject,
as if sleep could claimmy mouth for its own
and close what I'd saylike a wound. Or,
in the earth, like a grave,where this frail pet,
this wobbling fish,would be placed,
accorded a living soulin my mother's vision
of Heaven. Tiredof this world, the next
is what we wantedthis one to be, endless
revision and homeonce more to gulfs
of loss. The dogthat died of infection
after losing its tailto my grandfather
and his bolt-cuttersis made new. Out
of the coffin fittedfor newborns, the cat
my mother buriedin our front yard
rises. Such mercysways even me
beyond grumblingat hints of autumn,
its litter of death,its bone-deep ache.
Myself I cannot heal,though I wish it once
or twice each day,but this small thing,
short of Heaven's fugue state,I can restore. Pet,
a healing dose for you.And for this world,
the flesh is not goodfor much at all, except
to love and then to mourn.
Copyright © 2003 Paul Guest All rights reserved
from The Resurrection of the Body and the Ruin of the World
New Issues
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
Please support
Verse Daily's very generous sponsors:
Sponsor Verse
Daily!
Home
Archives
Web Monthly Features
About Verse Daily
FAQs
Contact Verse Daily
Publications Noted & Received
Copyright © 2002, 2003 Verse Daily
All Rights Reserved
[an error occurred while processing this directive]