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AT THE VIETNAM MEMORIAL
Washington, D.C., June 2002
When I stepped back to take a picture
of my high school classmate’s name
carved high on the wall, I saw
the reflection of my body
hovering in the marble.
If I look hard enough, high and low,
I am certain that my own name
may also be found somewhere
cut into that stone.
THE WIND THAT GNARLED
The
wind that gnarled
and gnawed these pines
into their grotesque, grace-
ful shapes over how many
hundreds of years still plies
its tools of vector and of force
on me as well as those boughs.
Perhaps our perfume
is sweeter for the struggle,
the spatters of shadow
they hurl on the ground
in the sunlight that much
more painterly. Thank you,
Lord, for the opportunity
to hear the chickadee
once more, to watch the
beetle scurry along
the banister of the porch
where I am allowed to see him,
for the shadow of the huge bird
that ripples along the grass
in search of its prey
Bill Zavatsky has published two books of poetry and
two books of translation (Larbaud; Breton). He has
also written about poetry and the writing of it. He
teaches English at the Trinity School in New York
City." |