Saturday, April 16, 2011

April 2011 poems

By Franz Wright

To sit at a table with Jesus
and eat a piece of fish
after his death, I don't think I could
bear it. But today I am following
in the blue stained-glass footsteps of a doctor who works with doomed children,
of the old poet, the rays in my eyes
walking to Heaven
which is not far--
a little face turns to the window
and it is there.

The Testing-Tree
By Stanley Kunick

On my way home from school

up tribal Providence Hill
past the Academy ballpark
where I could never hope to play

I scuffed in the drainage ditch
among the sodden seethe of leaves
hunting for perfect stones

rolled out of glacial time
into my pitcher's hand;
then sprinted lickety-

split on my magic Keds
from a crouching start,
scarcely touching the ground

with my flying skin as I poured it on
for the prize of the mastery

over that stretch of road,
with no one no where to deny
when I flung myself down

that on the given course
I was the world's fastest human.