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Poet of the Month

Image by Élisabeth Joly

Cataloging Fall 1932
By Jan Wiezorek
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How a sky takes its fingers

across a globe, pointing

to blue-crop blueberries

for refuge in fog, making

preserves or a pancake mix

from orchard heart, white

in spring, pink in winter—

& miller’s stone for grinding

from Great Lakes’ waterwheel

of syncopation in hard times,

trying a heritage of belts & gears,

taking corn down to predecessors

of soft shake, mixing in your fingers

like buttered cornbread crossed

with watermelon cut from the knife

of merchants & loggers: always w/

a pocketknife, young man, they say,

w/ an emerald-green handle, for a sky

of growers & farmers slicing thru

a butcher’s cut, smoking into the bones

like airtight stoves or pails for water,

clocks of seamless nickel, floral oilcloths,

flannel-lined caps, & handles for plows,

settling us onto a novelty blanket

of ephemera, flimsy newsprint

promulgating dreams, w/ saliva

on the pages, as our own invention.

Abstract Shapes

Expelling loneliness
By Jan Wiezorek


out of soil erodes grass

on the boulevard, as a door

w/ a window set slant against                              

the sugar maple, as a portal

open to the public, as a slab

to rest the corpus of her life,

rushing (for her) to the door

to wave to dogs passing by,

as if they are the true residents

of turf exhausted under empty

frame houses, w/ dirt yards

& eyes, sunken, lost into

themselves; expulsion

wild & curved as blue

aroma, sour stench that

experiments w/ periodic

tables, imposing an end

to this hybrid space,

laying her loneliness—w/

ours—onto the grasses

of things & ideas.

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