Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Edward Foster

Back to Mike

If you became invisible,
would he like you more?
That way he might read into
empty space
just what he needs.

He might see an old gazelle
or bears on ice floes in the cold.
Anything he’d want.
You could roar or
humbly kiss his wedding ring,
if that would do.

And then expect
that when the sky is dark,
he’d return to you.


Big Diomede

Looking for the Moscow
check-in booth,
I saw such lovely men
I fell in love
seven times.
The airport turned
a brilliant blue.

Not one of them
knew
what I had seen
in them.
I wish those men
had all seen me
and liked the view.

But no, just haze and rush
until the lady
at the counter looked askew.
She studied me.

She’d seen my eyes flash blue.
I knew she knew too much.



Donskoy Monastery and the Tourist

Where were they shot?
Show me where. Or describe the spot.
Also let me know where they were burned
and how their comrades lit the fire
and justified their act.
It’s a place I need to see.

I’ve never seen such gloom.
No tears. I’m looking out this window,
and it’s cold. Would you like to look?
Perhaps you’d like to look for me.

Nothing fits, though horror
happened here. Is there anywhere
its secret can’t be known?
Keep your balance.
Look! See!


Having a Drink Alone

            “Why do you balk at that will whose intent
            can never be thwarted, which has increased
            your pains a number of times? Why butt
            against the fates?”
                        — Dante Alighieri, Cantos from Dante’s Inferno, Canto 9,
                        translated by Armand Schwerner

They’ve chosen not to hear
and do not know you stand above.

They have a celebration.
You watch them from your balcony.
The air is hot.
You can’t retreat.

Enamored, you’d
close out the sound,
and close the door.
Imaginary windows
will not shut.

The happy ones you’re watching, leave.
The joy you heard from them
is gone.
Why did they acquiesce?
Why did they do what others want?

Perhaps it gave them joy.

Each evening there are more to see.
You see them passing down below.
You cannot close the door.
The windows will not shut.
You wonder how they pass the night.

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