POEM OF THE DAY via Poem.com


Joan Naviyuk Kane

The light unevenly gray beyond the triple-pane:
maybe neglected, or itself, self-filtering.

Obscuring as it crystals into existence, as it
opaques the hoar on the fence & bract to branch
of all my trees. Our yard, my debt. Unpruned lilac,

two liability spruce to the north, the ostentatious
sprawl of crabapple once fertile next-door—

then storm-felled, now thrust into the yarrow
as it overgrows our bed. A triplet of rowan.

Then sour, then choke-cherry.
Not least, two or five cedar.

Cottonwood & aspen & an alder hell
I squalled predictably into the right-of-way.

A birch I see almost too much to name.
Black spruce, too.

You don’t have
a personality disorder,

said she, a good doctor—
but one of three women

of color licensed
to practice psychiatry

in the State of Alaska—
between guffaws. Another

in Fairbanks, & what use
is she to me, so far away,

probably overbooked
& kind enough to do what she would.

To see me as (a) patient, to prescribe
whatever I will take for whatever

she happens to think she might fix or,
for now, temporarily stay. I see the dark

horizon in the west. It rhymes with nothing.

Nothing, you see.

from the book DARK TRAFFIC / University of Pittsburgh Press
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