George Rapp 4th of July

By G. C. WALDREP

 

Bids slowly wish.
With camellias.
With rose hips bee
balm with honey.
Swimming lesson.
Did you lock out.
No I fell down
at the stream’s side
a crash of horns.
Moss is intelligible.
Let us go there
& then let us betide.
There are many
ways to learn this.
There are many
variant spellings.
Speed matters some.
The arbor freighted
as with jasmine
though there is
no jasmine here.
To preserve tongues
kindly step aside.
A colonial system.
What tells time
vs. what time tells.
Where did bones go
before the new war.
Rote bandage
of the inevitable.
What is incarnation
for, I asked.
I felt correctly,
I lifted the sketch
from its gilt frame.
Naturally, a to-do.
Both weddings
hung to dry.
One in the foyer,
one on the wire line.

 

G. C. Waldrep’s most recent books are The Earliest Witnesses and feast gently, winner of the William Carlos Williams Award from the Poetry Society of America. Recent work has appeared in The American Poetry Review, Poetry, The Paris Review, New England Review, The Yale Review, Colorado Review, The Nation, New American Writing, Conjunctions, and other journals. Waldrep lives in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, where he teaches at Bucknell University.

[Purchase Issue 23 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

George Rapp 4th of July

Related Posts

New York City skyline

Lawrence Joseph: New Poems

LAWRENCE JOSEPH
what we do is // precise and limited, according to / the Minister of Defense, // the President / is drawing a line, // the President is drawing / a red line, we don’t want to see  / a major ground assault, the President says, / it’s time for this to end, / for the day after to begin, he says, // overseer of armaments procured

rebecca on a dock at sunset

Late Orison

REBECCA FOUST
You & I will grow old, Love, / we have grown old. But this last chance // in our late decades could be like the Pleiades, winter stars seen by / Sappho, Hesiod & Galileo & now by you & me. // Let us be boring like a hollow drill coring deep into the earth to find / its most secret mineral treasures.

Waiting for the Call I Am

WYATT TOWNLEY
Not the girl / after the party / waiting for boy wonder // Not the couple / after the test / awaiting word // Not the actor / after the callback / for the job that changes everything // Not the mother / on the floor / whose son has gone missing // I am the beloved / and you are the beloved