Jul/Aug 2003 Poetry

Three Poems

by David Ayers


The Understudy

Go be Kim Novak in Muir Woods,
I'll wait. I'll be Scottie, I'll be Jimmy Stewart.

Go be Kim Novak. Take the painting and sell it.
Don't see him. Dye your hair.

Go be Kim Novak. Choose a tree
in the middle of Muir Woods, marked by no one.
Close your eyes.

I'll stop. I'll count to ten.


After Dante

Uncomplicated, our lives shone
clear as light in blue cups;
the sun pulled leaves from outside
through a window, onto the tea.

She poured, I sipped;
we warmed the air between us
invisibly—there was a fire—
and made light of the day's events.

And where had we seen smoke?
in the snow, by the gate,
by the window of her closet.

She thought a man should be writing there.


Restoration: Late Afternoon

Had a Sistine Chapel sky today, love, thought of you.
Clouds looked as if they'd just been       dabbed on,

                         bleach stains, faded denim.

                                           Jeep was melancholy,
interstate shushed from AM rain       (falls
hard, you know; there's just no sleep

                         these days).

The radio was on
Cat Stevens up loud (I tried to, just
couldn't stop)

                         it's a wild world...

that's when:
had a Sistine Chapel sky today, love, thought of you.


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