Hunger Mountain - Vermont College Journal of the arts
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Keats in the Rain

by Dorianne Laux

Uncertainty. Doubt. Mystery.
Suspended there not needing
to know. Not scumbling after.

Undefined, unsheltered.
The rain splashing down,
not calling it anything.

Not asking why now
and not yesterday.
Tomorrow ‘s a bird

hidden in its nest.
Buried there. Not here
where you’re standing,

face lifted to the rain.
Whatever silver it is.
Whatever life it gives

or takes. In the boots
it ruins. Its needles
on your shoulders.

Watching it slide
down the gutters, sloop
through the grate,

beyond how it started
or when it will stop,
if it’s good or not.

Standing in your spot
on the sidewalk. Hands
held, palms up. Your body

a windy road.

 

{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Andrea Potos June 27, 2009 at 1:29 pm

John would have nodded and said Oh yes! to this poem. . . .

Stanley M Noah August 6, 2009 at 8:14 pm

Gee whizzz! A poem with and about displacements,
eclipses, memory, movement & mutabilities.

Jennifer Buckhana January 3, 2010 at 7:17 pm

Great words, scumbling and sloop!

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