grief poems

October 31, 2013

“After My Copy of Levertov’s Life in the Forest” by Jeremy Dae PadenPosted by

Jeremy Dae Paden

AFTER MY COPY OF LEVERTOV’S LIFE IN THE FOREST

I bought Life in the Forest
young, in love with Levertov’s
essays. I had not yet read
her poems. And Life remains

unread, not for lack of want,
but the blindness of the press,
the machine and proof-reader,
left blank every other page.

Some poems never end, some
do not begin, and some like
Talking to Grief and Emblems
One and Two only exist

in name. We work in the dark,
James tells us, we do what we
can. And questions, Denise writes,
they walk beside us, waiting.

This is life in the forest,
all ends without beginnings,
emblems lost. How do you talk
to grief, except in fragments?

—from Rattle #39, Spring 2013
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October 17, 2013

“Brown Eyed Girl” by Edison JenningsPosted by

Edison Jennings

BROWN EYED GIRL

Genetic analysis of a Denisovan fossil,
dubbed “Brown Eyed Girl,” reveals
kinship to modern humans.

So close, we’re kin,
according to the DNA
unraveled from your genes:
brown eyes, hair, and skin.

You bequeathed two teeth
and a mote of finger bone,
coded scant remains
that reveal your life was brief.

My short-lived daughter, too,
had brown eyes and hair.
That makes us kin:
she through me and me through you.

—from Rattle #39, Spring 2013
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__________

Edison Jennings (Virginia): “My interest in poetry began by happenstance in middle school. I began trying to write it in high school, but I wasn’t committed. Twenty-four years ago, while serving in the Navy, I got serious. When I separated from the Navy, I enrolled in the Warren Wilson Program for Writers, and I have been trying to write poetry ever since. I’m not sure why. Poetry is hard work, and I’m kind of lazy. However, I am also often confused. Maybe that’s why I continue to try and write the stuff because poetry might be a type of ‘broken drinking goblet,’ to borrow from Robert Frost, that I fill with water, which, when drunk, makes me ‘whole again beyond confusion.’” (web)

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