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About this poet

Noah Warren is the author of The Destroyer in the Glass (Yale University Press, 2016), winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets. He was the recipient of a Wallace Stegner Fellowship and is currently pursuing a PhD in English at the University of California, Berkeley.

Thou in Time

With the mower passing over
the lawn this August morning

shirtless, lightheaded

it is such easy going, you just
push it along and the fresh swathe
follows after, good machine,

and what Mother called the smell of order
wafts up from the headless
plants

          around you, around you—

and who has no excuse like you, none?
You cry quietly, birdsong
occurring here and there, as you observe
the sun sinking
into the torn trunks

of trees…numbed on the porch
beneath the yellow porch light, you let
mosquitoes settle on your forearms, chest and throat
and drink deep
motionless, by the hundred

then you rub yourself, and cherry juice—

Please take pity,
speak to me,
come inside.

                    Look—
I am drinking the rose, now
I drink the thorns.

This poem originally appeared in American Poets, Spring-Summer 2016. Copyright © 2016 Noah Warren. Used with permission of the author.

This poem originally appeared in American Poets, Spring-Summer 2016. Copyright © 2016 Noah Warren. Used with permission of the author.

Noah Warren

Noah Warren

Noah Warren is the author of The Destroyer in the Glass (Yale University Press, 2016), winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets. 

by this poet

poem

More than a hundred dollars of them.

It was pure folly. I had to find more glass things to stuff them          
       in.

Now a white and purple cloud is breathing in each corner

of the room I love. Now a mass of flowers spills down my                  
      dining table—

each

2
poem

The lake dry; it seethes.
Rust creeps through
brittle reeds, seeps into
the rustling seed-heads—
one stalk bows
beneath the weight
of the blackbird’s feet.

From the path edge
the fat lizard barks,
a silent croak.
He pivots, sprints over sticks,
plunges into

2
poem
           threw the pot of aloe from the balcony.
Bone yellow with a crackle glaze:
I was sitting close, I saw it teeter
on the railing,
the iron swaying— 
 
There are so many plants.
 
On slender, ringed necks
the old