2 poems
Refrain
Wilderness is unreachable. Under its own dome of heaven
a succulent on the window sill, requiring only a jar & occasional
water, must stand in for the wild that only requires we leave
it alone, as our need to stay busy is our undoing—wilderness
thrives as we lose our bearings, forget which day it is, try to
keep calm amidst our hysteria of doing & not doing enough—
I struggle to sleep—memory, a protagonist—today already
contains tomorrow—on & on in my woolly head—like
Odysseus bewitched by Calypso, while something I forgot
keeps edging me awake—queer tasks & queer desires—until
I’m sure it’s growing light, as another voice, a Tree Frog
lures my mind out into black marshland with its simple
heartbreaking song, circling back, all refrain, just refrain—
No absolute reality, I tell myself, our minds dream
in our senses, in a state of perpetual longing for completion
our bodies deny—reflections drift through the trees, let them
find the damp duff of decaying pinecones, the rot of snags—
Practice, practice—raise your hands up in the air, see the light
dance on your fingertips—
Winter Solstice
Torrential rain began at 3 a.m., continues in dashes & lines—Chickadees & Nuthatches shelter in Sword Ferns & Viburnum, twittering as rain pools on the patio along a line of sandbags, across the threshold of my garden door—On this darkest day of the year, my cat sleeps in my arms, as my broken body clatters around the house—truly, it’s a marvel anything works, that anything lives—on a day like any other day, in this dark year.
Tonight, Jupiter & Saturn join in "The Great Conjunction," celebrating the end of 200 years of co-joining Earth signs—this Conjunction marks the beginning of a new Epoch, an 800-year macro-cycle, as Earth moves into Air signs—we’re told to expect empires to fall & increasing spirituality; ideas returning to prominence, though violence may ensue—
Rain thickens to sleet, dissolves into snow. The garden brightens, covering Fall’s barrenness, muffling everyday noises into placid calm; drawing some shapes out while erasing others—spindly Dogwood now glistens as Cedars droop under the white weight, Vine Maple’s web now visible, as Rhododendrons merge foliage into white domes; rusty spokes of the iron wagon wheels outlined with snow as Sword Ferns collapse
under the weight of snow like discarded umbrellas. Black lattice of the Climbing Hydrangea glows with light, every shape lightened, every shape finally softened into dream-like versions of themselves. Even as light dims on this darkest, shortest day of a dark year, Hummingbirds buzz about the feeder, gorging on nectar before falling into their nightly torpor.
Randall Potts is the author of Trickster (Kohl House Poets Series, University of Iowa Press, 2014) and Collision Center (O Books, 1994), as well as a chapbook, Recant (A Revision) (Leave Books, 1994). Their work has appeared widely in periodicals and is forthcoming in "Poetry Northwest" and the "Bennington Review." They live in Bellingham, Washington.