This week we're excited to feature two poems by Joel Johnson. Joel F. Johnson lives in obscurity in Concord, MA. He is a member of the Concord Poetry Center and has attended the Colrain Manuscript Conference. His poems have been accepted for publication in Blackbird, the Aurorian and Gray Sparrow. Read on!
Two Poems
The Hurricane of ’38
Everywhere
in the pillows and cradles of blown-down trees
the cheap modern chimneys of old Queen Annes
whole neighborhoods empty with the undescended
of those drowned in the storm.
Nowhere
on the walk, in the yard, just past the fence
limbs thin as cricket wings
voices soft as grass
lovely eyes I’ve never seen
always turning skyward.
Paul and Bennett
And Paul. Taking the quiet oars, the quiet
thump of the oars, glides, with a single
stroke that interrupts the water’s sleep,
already piercing the fog, dissolving
into its soft canvas, a shape subsumed
into its own shadow. And Bennett
Waving in comic slow motion,
half turned in the back of the boat,
knees toward Paul, his face toward her,
calling goodbye as if a mile away,
though but a single stroke, now two,
fading deeper into the vague canvas,
shades subsumed, merging. And she
Standing on the damp cold wood of the dock,
feeling the rotted ribs of its grain beneath
her bare feet, wants to laugh but cannot,
would wave but does not do that either,
watching the pierced fog heal, the interrupted
water return to its waiting dream, finds
regret out of all proportion to their leaving. Sees
Bennett’s face turn away, a pale dial,
turning toward Paul and the smooth
deliberate roll of his shoulders, pulling
back on the oars, another stroke,
and beyond, the indefinite cloud
that is gathering them in, concealing them,
Paul and Bennett, shades merging,
more shape than substance now, fading. Hears
Bennett’s quiet voice, the sound of it only,
the words indistinct behind the vague canvas,
and in reply, a low laugh, Paul’s,
coming before and after the rhythm of the oars,
words that, lacking form, carry all meaning
in their tone, in the way they cross the water,
leaving definition and syntax behind,
returning to stillness. Their sound
Dissolving on the canvas before her,
subsumed, Paul and Bennett,
falling into a gathering cloud,
a dream as it slips the conscious mind
more real for being half forgot,
all that she would keep but cannot.
