Author: Jesse Nathan

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…With curious hope, with pain
I’ve tried to catch what I used to be,
…Floating beneath the locust tree
At our prairie farm, on a rain-cured plank.
………….I’d sound out clouds, and fly
…………….With the birds, swinging so high
………….I kicked the sky

…And it kicked me back. The branch broke
And I landed on my shoulder blades and tail,
…Fists still gripping still-hitched rope,
And I heaved and heaved, the sky opaque.

………….Locust tree, you meant no harm,
…………….So I swing here from your other arm,
………….Still your fool, your pendulum.

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…And then we lay still in our bluestem fortress.
Nearby are headstones, leaning and sinking.
…An apple in hand, a hat that reads SPORT,
“So what are you, really?” he asks like a sphinx.
…………….“That’s,” I laugh, “what the miser said
……………….When sophomore year I played
…………….The cloaked and tight-lipped dead-faced

…Ghost of Christmas Future: Remember my winging,
Straight at Scrooge, one long-nailed finger?”
…A friendly tease is a pleasing thing.
I watch his teeth break the apple’s skin,
…………….And with mineral glamor he arches a brow.
……………….“One year,” I add, “I wore a cloud
…………….Of beard and played the shouting