Poetry from NER 41.2 (2020)
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Opera troupes came to the village
every summer.
An egg warm in his pocket
my father would run out early
for a good seat. To watch warriors fight.
Esther Lin
Listening
Waiting for the Hurricane
From Jennifer Grotz’s “Listening,” in the current issue:
Water turns everything into a jewel
then puts a metal taste in the mouth
slowly replaced by dust. Which is why standing
in the rainy street you feel much richer than you are. Or, aware that everything will dry, much poorer.
You feel that way anyway in New York, and a little lost,
but let’s be honest, that’s what you want, to hide,
and like an owl, you’ve retreated not to high branches
but an anonymous skyrise.