by Best Poem
After Carol Frost
None lead away
from this metamorphic, fairy-tale garden
and theatre of ingenious, domestic machines.
Received, acculturated mind,
double focuses, slips
it is not enough
il fait beau —
do dragonflies stare? No,
memory speaks on its own, to its own.
Yes, forgetting makes the tale.
More than two sides,
oh my brethren, like any coin,
more than one maze
through the minefield of little rings
more valuable than legs, or shiny
like new toy
weapons, lit matches.
To have our toil mean grandeur,
to have life mean
as any trench rat, trench coat on Wall Street,
any rotting corpse, any trap.
become ministries, fortresses,
minarets of the lord. Where’s the ale
and rye bread? What ails thee?
I’ve your thou here and if I grasp your thy
we can swap potatoes and tomatoes
and find some sweeping, redeeming sky,
that other, my brother, my compadre,
Catherine Daly is author of several books and eBooks, most recently Chanteuse / Cantatrice (factory school, 2007) and soon Vauxhall (Shearsman, 2008). She is visiting assistant professor of creative writing at New College in Florida, and lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Ron Burch.