“The Magic of Apricot,” by Fady Joudah
The magic of apricot may well keep us alive
a little while longer than unnecessary
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Poetry
“Recordable,” by Nkosi Nkululeko
I was admitted into a hospital only for
the death of a tooth. There are negatives
of graveyards, albums of black rivers.
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“Our Father,” by Peter Blickle
The word you hear in this land
is bless—short and sharp
and significant, a sword blade
reflecting the sun.
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“Constant Spring,” by Lorna Goodison
Here you are still doing the island’s housekeeping,
Scour and rinse out the mouth of a river
bind weeds and refuse clogged.
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“The Day Has Come When My Mother,” by Cathy Song
The day has come when my mother
no longer knows me.
It comes on a day of dying
paperwhites, crumpled
like words torn from a typewriter.
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“Evening in Nod,” by Dave Lucas
His day’s work done and his third beer drained, Cain finally feels like himself. Buzzed in the static of late August, when his friends go back to school. He always misses them more than he can say. He does not say much.
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“Blessings on the Stomach, the Body’s Inner Furnace,” by Robert Bly
“I think the stomach must have gone to the dark goblins given grace far out in the groping tundras, and learned from them how to magically father the children of heat.”
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“Eclogue at Twilight,” by Yusef Komunyakaa
Time stops. She’d moved
through the tall yellow sage
as they copulated,
stood only a few feet
away, enveloped in the scent
that drew them together.
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“Gokstadt/Ganymede,” by Paisley Rekdal
In this obituary your wife, now widow,
posts, I find a photo of you running a hand
along Gokstadt’s blackened bow,
mizzen snapped, the nail bolts sanded
down by time.
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“La Isla de Los Monstros,” by Virgil Suárez
In Los Angeles I grew up watching The Three Stooges,
The Little Rascals, Speed Racer, and the Godzilla movies,
those my mother called “Los Monstros,” and though I didn’t
yet speak English, I understood why such a creature would,
upon being woken up from its centuries-long slumber, rise
and destroy Tokyo’s buildings, cars, people–
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