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ENOUGH
I got here through no talent of my own.
I did not birth myself, or even will myself
into being. One day I was a cluster of cells,
one day I was a heart, one day I was
a human in the world. Now what? Look
at the luck I was given, born into a place
with a hot yellow sun. Born with two
nimble hands, a strong enough voice.
If I’m not shouting down cruelty or at least
singing all the time, what am I doing?
If I’m not building a table or holding a child
or slicing tomatoes warm from the garden
I’ve weeded myself, what am I doing?
I bought these electric blue flats. Suede.
I did it because it made me feel a little
happy, that small dopamine hit that comes
from picturing yourself looking like someone
someone wants to look at. But how absurd
is that? How flimsy? I’ve never learned to change
a tire. My music theory is abysmal.
Sometimes I don’t realize it’s snowing until
there’s already a dusting on the driveway,
which is certainly close to excuseless.
But I swear I’m mainly paying attention.
I swear I’m grateful at least a dozen times a day.
If I could cradle the earth in my hands
for ten seconds, I would, just to show it how
tenderly I could hold it, how I wouldn’t drop it,
how I cherish it even as I’m turning in early
instead of going out to see the Perseids.
I’ve always loved a carnival. Is it enough
to love a carnival? I could ride the teacups
all day. That shriek that comes from spinning,
the one that unfurls from somewhere deep
below the throat like a bright streamer?
It’s language. It translates into thank you.
--Catherine Pierce
Copyright © 2018 by Oberlin College. May not
be reproduced without permission.
PITCH BLUE
I can’t stop—
Like a Band-Aid floating in a swimming pool—
Skipping one flat stone after another across the surface of a pond—
Ax head in a stump with a long handle in the air—
The alcohol inside of sentences—
Like a village with men approaching on horseback—
Looking up from a laptop and finding it noon—
The moment before collision—
Never light this match—
--Arthur Sze
Copyright © 2018 by Oberlin College. May not
be reproduced without permission.
UNTIL YOU NEVER
Backwards I would tell it
so the soldiers borrow the rope
from Jean’s neck to hang
the church bell so rocks fly
from windows sparkly bits
rising into frames so flames
turn into Schmidt’s barn
a crackling torch a glass bottle
drop into this soldier’s hands
I would tell it backwards
so the bleating sheep go quiet
the lightning-cracked sky
lightens in the west the sheep
wander backwards out
of the barn soldiers climb back
into their trucks their tanks
roll slowly out of sight rifles
suck up each bullet as they go
so Mother will appear here
beside me again I’ll drift
awake again she strokes my hair
sweet boy it was only
a dream she says a dream
you must wake up now it’s time
to turn on the light time to
get dressed eat dinner grow
smaller until you never have to
live through this.
--Matthew Thorburn
Copyright © 2018 by Oberlin College. May not
be reproduced without permission.
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