Jimmy

It was Jimmy who hung the cheesecloth sac
Of crimson marbles—shooters—from our tree
That night in April
So we’d rub our eyes at breakfast, needing
To believe the cherry—earth still raw
Around its roots—had fruited while we slept.

But when he swung out that morning
—Glitzy chrome and whitewalls sparkling—
Into oncoming traffic
Because the black van ahead was dawdling,
It was his brother Tom, riding shotgun,
Who yelped: ‘Jimmy! That’s mother’s coffin.’

Beverley Bie Brahic

Beverley Bie Brahic

Beverley Bie Brahic is the author of four collections of poetry, including the 2012 Forward Prize finalist White Sheets. She has translated works by Charles Baudelaire, Yves Bonnefoy and Hélène Cixous. Francis Ponge: Unfinished Ode to Mud was a 2009 Popescu Prize finalist; Guillaume Apollinaire: The Little Auto won the 2012 Scott Moncrieff Prize for translation.
Beverley Bie Brahic

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Author: Beverley Bie Brahic

Beverley Bie Brahic is the author of four collections of poetry, including the 2012 Forward Prize finalist White Sheets. She has translated works by Charles Baudelaire, Yves Bonnefoy and Hélène Cixous. Francis Ponge: Unfinished Ode to Mud was a 2009 Popescu Prize finalist; Guillaume Apollinaire: The Little Auto won the 2012 Scott Moncrieff Prize for translation.