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Recorded at the Chancellors Reading, Poets Forum 2014. NYU Skirball Center.
About this Poem 

"Geographically speaking, this is just California dreaming, from the Sierras to a ranch in Marin, presided over until very recently by an aged blind sheep named Annie. Otherwise it's one of those solitary evenings with an enhanced sense of elucidation."

—C. D. Wright

Imaginary June


Night:     wears itself away    clouds too dense to skim
over the shear granite rim       only a moment before
someone sitting in a mission chair       convinced  101%
convinced    she could see into her very cells
with her unassisted eyes     even into extremophiles
even with the light dispelled     until the mind sets sail
into its private interval of oblivion     a hand falls from its lap
a pen drops to a carpet     a stand of leaves whispers as if
to suggest something tender      yet potentially heart robbing  
 
Sequel:     to a dream in which faces flare up    fuse     dissolve
but there is a lot of color before their vanishing      and a name
for such phenomena      that comes from the belly of a lamb
rather     not a lamb anymore      from the stomach
of a particular canny but kind and     blind-from-birth ewe 

                                                             

                                                       for Susie Schlesinger


Copyright © 2013 by C. D. Wright. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on November 4, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by C. D. Wright. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on November 4, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

C. D. Wright

C. D. Wright

Author of numerous volumes of poetry, Wright served as the poet laureate of Rhode Island, and in 2013 was elected a Chancellor of the Academy of American Poets.

by this poet

poem

Since the day the bell was cast

I have sat in the bishop’s carved chair and waited my turn

with my feet crossed at the ankles, and the leather of my huaraches

cutting into the hide of my foot.

From where I was sitting I watched the light being drawn off

the magnolias in the Plaza de

poem

The set was on when she fell asleep

 

In black and white

 

a woman  was gliding through a garden in period clothes

 

and a child was touching

 

 a pane of wavy  glass with the flat of her hand

 

Another woman

 

was all but flying down a spiral

2
poem

The left hand rests on the paper.

The hand has entered the frame just below the elbow.

The other hand is in its service.

The left moves along a current that is not visible
and on a signal likewise inaudible, goes still.

For the hand to respond the ink must be black.

There is no

2