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Poetry by
Leonard Gontarek
Photo by Jill Burhans
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Worst Enemy There have always been too many trees. I smell death across the silver water. Residue on the iridescent shore. No one will pole me there. I dislike rain. I have never liked it. You may think otherwise from previous statements. It should be light, but it is dark. It will stay this shade of dark all day. When the deer lick me, their tongues are rough And part of me disappears. The morning following battle, the mist burns off. The flowers sizzle and the small lungs Of birds are bursting with poison. Music was background noise. I could have done without most of it. I would have done anything to keep The child hidden in the barn alive. Gold sticks of light are mixed with the Straw and those that come through the door are blurred light. I came in peace, that much I know.
It’s true there was lightning. A gold necklace floated above the castle. I wandered the parapets in a crown fashioned from foil & found objects, In search of meaning. The reason you were charmed, So you said, later. Mouth full of my flesh. Granting me limitless wishes. I wanted to talk about prayer. When I’m not an ass, I’m a fool (notice my costume). See the blackbirds land on the pennant poles & gargoyles just like prayer. One extra moment today. Inserted. 7 PM Greenwich Mean Time. Leap second. The world can be so inconsistent. We are perfect & atomic. Synch, synch. Hold me longer.
It’s Christmas. Alistaire Cooke’s carved bone & tendon, for me. Have I been good? You can see that, in the lightning flashes. This is my home. In the north room, the sea is real, where the light is insignificant. Lost ships do not exist. Leakage. Enlightenment. Consider the making of tea. The teaspoon should be made in the way that it does not look beautiful. Something to that effect says Rikyu. I follow the precept to a tee.
At fifty, I shall not lie afraid to leave the house here. The answer is in a book that is still a tree. Baby birds, pink & quiet for the moment, dammit. Though an assassin lurks behind each flowering one, each dogwood smells like water. I shall lay the green & pink dying chicks in the sun. Beside the lavender ones. Fellow human beings, I do not touch you, nor do you touch me. I am afraid I am finding the display of bombs beautiful. I cannot tell the difference from night. Most people die within a block of their homes. Is this something I’ve read or something I’ve made up? The garden, this time of year, is a tomb. The heart of the house is a cat, that moves from dark to dark. All night we give up sleep to the sound of building. Nothing has changed, at dawn. When our mothers kiss us goodbye, they leave faint lip-shapes on our cheeks. We do not know if we should wipe it off, or keep it. No, that is not dirt on my forehead. It is dark among prayers. There is something to the trucks idling outside the slaughterhouse. In winter, enormous ghosts of We still hear them clearly on sunday. Come spring, unmistakable, we still hear them. One man’s war is turning the city into an autumn landscape, Two years have passed And the walls of our homes are rockface clematis creeps along. Privet in the shadow. Neighbors, all I can send are empty envelopes, as long as I write my return address And it does not exceed a pound. This can’t be the world we wished for, Cosmos, snow-drop, wet tulip. Film, broken. Time-lapse borealis. Colorful lumber fallen in the field.
My Dear, I remember so little. There was a caw of the crow in morning. It is considered common, I know. I remember the maid asked me to spread raspberry preserves there. Do it over. Slower. I remember it was Spring or Summer. I say this with the same tongue. What is the Italian for "would you mind terribly if I took your photograph with just one stocking "?
Unsigned. It’s silly, you think of sitting on an enclosed porch, but where you are Sitting is perfectly fine, if, the afterlife. See how I so much want you to lead me, test me. (A good hit of white & woods & light.)
Through orange leaves, pools of sky. Passing over water, vanish. Just
As at the bottom of real ponds: stars in the dark
& arrows, chariot, dippers, mythological junk.
The pears are shiny here. Shelter me when it is snowing. You still can.
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