Susanna Mishler

THE AFTERLIFE: IN THE SUMMER HOUSE

A scrap of canvas tacked to the kitchen wall
reads, in Russian and English:
AT THE DARK TIME
PULL OUT THE CORD.

A slim arrow points toward
some lost device that shifts now
in a north coast ice pack, or
was crushed and swallowed

by a flock of Arctic terns
and migrates from pole to pole in
thousands of fibers radiating through
food chains: the broken strings

hanging from closet lights. Lines
that raise half a window blind.

–from Rattle #28, Winter 2007

§ One Response to “The Afterlife: In the Summer House” by Susanna Mishler

• Anoth R. Poet says:

  August 7, 2008 at 6:10 pm

  I liked this poem. When I read it, the word that came to mind was “dispersal.” I felt after reading this poem, I had a whole new appreciation for the word “dispersal.” And it’s not even in the poem itself.

  Anybody ever read a poem like that? In which a familiar word, one word that’s not even in the poem, all of a sudden appears to you in a new light.

  Reply