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Then to Now, and: From Here You Seem a Braided River, and: Inroad

From: Colorado Review
Volume 40, Number 3, Fall/Winter 2013
pp. 140-142 | 10.1353/col.2013.0082

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Then to Now

You fret and wring each minute
into being, all catalogued
in long lists amid laughter-light,
phone-light, with the rinds
of friends’ aftersobs, their silent blessings.
Your breath smells anonymous here,
gestures toward and out of yourself.
You slim into a resemblance
of tunnels, tree bark, feral apples
from the orchard by the cemetery.
Are you the precise hour you think you are?
Do you squander the spoils of your prizefighting?
O blitheness, I regret nothing but encounters with you.
I left the last family members
in favor of untendered landscapes.
Loneliness articulates into a flock of waxwings
hungry for red, seedy berries, and winter
is drabber after. Are you the gray world
or the red berries swallowed into birds?
Are you the stark branch or the sunset
silhouetting it and charming it on behalf of nighttime?
In this rebuilt warehouse storehousing historic dust
we ate the most recent meal in ten thousand meals.
Now the house is skewered by a stove pipe.
Now the blanched flowers fold every petal tight.
We battered dandelion heads, ate them.
Today a green inchworm, inching,
inched along my clothed arm.

From Here You Seem a Braided River

You wore shorefast ice,
birds were starting,
spring high water
was still white snow
in mountains.
Ice still rimmed your banks.
We would come to know gibbous light.
We would come to know snowlight.
We would come to ice light, star, animal
light, window light, exile light, want light
and the light sweated by our selves.
We’d know the light of the river rippling
shadows on the shadows. We’d know
candid light, we’d know dinner light and laughter light,
we’d know light off the underside of owl wings,
melt light and the light of the woods,
the light of letters, light of the dash
and the strange feathers of baleen on blank walls.
We’d know rain light and dream light. We’d know the peaceful
light of a single morning, we’d know the
thick light beneath the bridge. We’d know
the light of our clamor to belong in all light,
we’d know bluegrass light
and aquatic light, tundra light, intermountain light and
the light of surprise—
I know iceless light of you,
winter light, spring light, speech light of you,
light of seeing you, memory light,
photograph, ache light, light of one of these days,
light of so much left to say,
light of one day, light of one night
and one morning, light of one day.

Inroad

Some minds wellspring out of their own inroads.
Some inroads terminate with the mind’s wellspring’s alms,
skewing all speech-making thin, slipshod,
some blow glass versions of birdsongs they can’t hear
while bear tracks downstream of the fish-weir
muddle rubber-booted biologists with mouths of numbers,
and the stream erodes the meanings under timber, under lumber.
River folk carve sonorous muteness from dried reeds
and store them inside mouths like wet beliefs.
Their talk is song and the songs get caught in trees
or settle there, ravens of the Pleiades.

Jeremy Pataky  

Jeremy Pataky earned an MFA from the University of Montana. His work has appeared in Black Warrior Review, the Southeast Review, Cirque, Ice Floe, and other journals and anthologies. His chapbook, Fata Morgana, was published digitally by Blue Hour Press. He lives in Anchorage and McCarthy, Alaska.

Copyright © 2013 Center for Literary Publishing
Project MUSE® - View Citation
Jeremy Pataky. "Then to Now, and: From Here You Seem a Braided River, and: Inroad." Colorado Review 1.3 (2013): 140-142. Project MUSE. Web. 11 Nov. 2013. <http://muse.jhu.edu/>.
Pataky, J.(2013). Then to Now, and: From Here You Seem a Braided River, and: Inroad. Colorado Review 1(3), 140-142. Center for Literary Publishing. Retrieved November 11, 2013, from Project MUSE database.
Jeremy Pataky. "Then to Now, and: From Here You Seem a Braided River, and: Inroad." Colorado Review 1, no. 3 (2013): 140-142. http://muse.jhu.edu/ (accessed November 11, 2013).
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T1 - Then to Now, and: From Here You Seem a Braided River, and: Inroad
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