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Posts Tagged ‘William Doreski’

Published by Karl Rademacher on July 8, 2014. This item is listed in Issue 20, Issue 20 Poetry, Poetry

Appian Tombs

William Doreski

 

The umbrella pines outside Romeappian-tombs
resemble Peter crucified
safely beyond the city walls.
Was he crucified upside-down,
like the mass of pine roots below?

A green plastic lizard, a speck
of iridescence, evolves
from the stone on which I’m sitting.
I unfold my lunch: a bun,
an orange fresh from Morocco,

a chunk of mostly garlic sausage,
a flask of cheap wine. The wind
in the Appian tombs suggests
the dead get restless even
in daylight. I’d like to explore

these unrestored catacombs,
but wire mesh grating protects them
from casual browsers, while hand-sized
spiders have webbed the portals.
What must it feel like to hang

from spikes punched through hands and feet?
Jesus planned his martyrdom,
but Peter, church founder, did not.
When he died, the spiders rushed
from their webs to snatch his soul.

The lizard looks sideways at me
for devising this new and foolish
superstition. The umbrella pines
don’t bother to stir in the wind,
too busy studying their shadows.

 

 

 

 

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. His latest book is City of Palms (AA Press, 2012). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors.  His fiction, essays, poetry, and reviews have appeared in many journals, including Massachusetts Review, Notre Dame Review, Worcester Review, The Alembic, New England Quarterly, Harvard Review, Modern Philology, Antioch Review, Natural Bridge.  He won the 2010 Aesthetica poetry award.

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Published by Karl Rademacher on July 7, 2014. This item is listed in Issue 20, Issue 20 Poetry

So Shipwrecked

William Doreski

 

Adrift with a single oak plankso-shipwrecked
to support me, I feel distant
from myself and every other
useful geographical feature.
The Atlantic curves away
in every direction equally
unencumbered by horizons.
How did I get so shipwrecked?
I don’t remember going to sea.
I could cling to the plank and paddle
with one hand, but no direction
smells like home. If I let go
I’ll sink to the bottom and maybe
walk a few steps before I drown.
Or maybe it’s so deep the pressure
would implode me before I reached
solid ground. Far away an airplane
streaks across a featureless sky.
The sun stands directly overhead
so I can’t even compass myself.
Maybe if I could kick off my shoes
I could swim toward that contrail
and follow to a continent
large enough to support my weight.
It might take months or a year
to swim myself that far. Or maybe
land leers just out of sight.
Exhausted by thinking what thoughts
apply to my situation,
I lose hold of the plank but find
myself rising, not sinking,
breaking free of the green-gray swells
to swim in the air. I look down
at the drifting plank and laugh;
and as I fly in all directions
I leave my own white contrail
for the entire world to follow.

 

 

 

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. His latest book is City of Palms (AA Press, 2012). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors.  His fiction, essays, poetry, and reviews have appeared in many journals, including Massachusetts Review, Notre Dame Review, Worcester Review, The Alembic, New England Quarterly, Harvard Review, Modern Philology, Antioch Review, and Natural Bridge.  He won the 2010 Aesthetica poetry award.

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