|
Selected
Poems
GIVE ME MY LITTLE SKULL –
PHOTOGRAPHER JOEL PETER WITKIN, MEXICO CITY
Catherine Sasanov
THE
DAY AFTER THE ELECTION
Doug Dorph
NIGHT
& ITS TRAINS
Christien Gholson
Selected Prose
HOME
#34 - MARGARET'S PLACE
- AMSTERDAM - 2 WEEKS
Sharon Kwik
*
* *
ISSUE
NUMBER FOUR
*
* *
ISSUE
NUMBER FIVE
*
* *
ISSUE
NUMBER SIX
*
* *
ISSUE
NUMBER EIGHT
*
* *
ISSUE NUMBER NINE
|
|
MONGOLIA,
SOUTH DAKOTA
The
wind lifts a rider from his saddle
the wind can shove a rider from his saddle
in Mongolia
Ah but summer, when the wind-scorched prairie
is green to the border
in Dakota
Oh these lands of little water with thin streams
that don’t reach the sea but die away on the plains
in Dakota
O my man with catlike eyes of fire
and your voice like thunder, hands like bear paws
in Mongolia
That can snap a man in two like an arrow
O my man sleeping naked by a fire
in Mongolia
Feeling sparks as the stings of insects
the camp circled by wagons
in Dakota
An eternal blue sky lifts off the field
the seventy-tongued larks rise at a silver dollar dawn
in Dakota
Rise up from the feet of our horses
lilt around our ears, silence like a wave behind us
in Mongolia
The wind knocks the horseflies from the cattle
my man makes the earth explode
in Mongolia
But a man is not the sun
and therefore can’t be everywhere
in Dakota
But my man with such slashes in his cheek
that his beard can no longer grow
in Mongolia
He remembers all things
but not his own death
in Mongolia
On bone skates he speeds over ice
to catch animals in flight
in Dakota
He sees the stars circle the sky
horses tether to that single, unmoving light
in Dakota
A bowl of milk and the blood of horses
wild onions, millet, tea, roots of rushes
in Mongolia
He will retire alone to the banks of Battle Lake
a thousand miles from anywhere in the world
in Mongolia, in Dakota
He will turn his face from war and return to simple things
he will turn again to purify
Mongolia, Dakota
Elinor Nauen |
