And so it is, the boat has come to own you,
has learned to speak a language you cannot help
but agree with, its voice the dark lapping
of water against the hull, its song the wind
in the stays while you sleep, dreaming of a bowsprit
to hold you against the waves
In the current issue of NER, poet Victoria Chang meditates on Hopper’s painting.
The man could be the boss or could have a boss the man could have a
heart or could not have a heart the man is not working should be working
should be making profits not in fits but constantly the man looks out over
the yellow building over everything he must be the boss must be someone
From the current issue, Carrie Shipers’s “Anti-Anxiety Poem”:
Don’t worry. And when someone says Don’t worry,
don’t wonder if you’re worrying enough and about
the right things. Don’t worry that your headache
is really brain cancer and you’ll look terrible
without your hair. When your flight is canceled
or delayed, don’t assume that you aren’t meant
to travel, that where you are is where you’ll have
to stay. Don’t double- and triple-check your purse,
fingers feeling for your wallet as nimbly
as a pickpocket’s. Don’t worry about pickpockets,
their dying art.
From Matthew Olzmann’s “The Tiny Men in The Horse’s Mouth”:
The war is ending. Achilles is dead.
Paris lives on in shame.
And one man
plays piano as the city burns.
I’ve been there. And because I didn’t look,
I never saw it coming.