Sunday, 29 July 2012

Sunday Poem


Two foxes hefted the remains of a pigeon,
within the shadow of an onion-domed steeple,
and from the train’s window, watching: you, me, no one,

mooning the winter through, wishing work to be done,
holding out for bits of money like most people—
like a fox hefting the remains of a pigeon

that had landed to rest its wings and lost everyone.
We’re there now, holding the scene, an example
in our heads, a window through which you, me, no one,

can view your childhood home, the thin, scrambled sun,
and the sickness that drives you to sleep. Our couple—
as two foxes heft the remains of a pigeon,

dragging and chomping bits of bird to fill their own,
the world just darker, colder—rest a little
within the train’s window. There’s you, me, and no one,

all failing to arrive on time at the station,
our lives framed against the February chill,
where two foxes heft the remains of a pigeon
while watching, as a train passes, you, me: no one.

From Paralogues (2012) by Evan Jones.

1 comment:

Mary W. Walters said...

This is an amazing and wonderful poem. Thank you so much for posting it.