The American Poetry Review

THREE POEMS

Call

When the call cameshe ran. Outside, outthe back door, screaming, got to thefence and ran back, droppedto her knees and pawedat the earth, clawingup handfuls of grass.She was howling. Aululation. Something I’d never heardbefore. Likea wild horse roped, maybe,frantic, fighting against it.Even spacewas suffocating.I stood by her, almostover her. But I didn’tdare to touchIt would havebeen like touching theskin of a burn victim.There are physicistswho think there is notime. There is onlyNow. A series of Nows.That went on and onuntil she slumped to the ground.She lay her bodydown. She lay her head.Whatever pain, theearth receives our weight.She quieted. Shedid not rise. She peedin her clothes and thewater from her bodysank into the grass.Finally, I laid hands on her.Finally, she rose.

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