You and I, little nothings--still, you send me mysteries, fatal, easy to misread: a yellowing stone, a brown leaf with puckering edges ebbing and turning yellowish green, Spider woman, mild of aspect, benign intent! But I'm building a wall of inattention also easy to misread: a pyramid, brick by brick. Each brick is a poem: maybe a riveting conversation, maybe a warbling trace, a wren's minor grace note turning major-- Tomorrow that gentle girl, your niece, will be kneading my palms, the bottoms of my feet, the small of my back. And then you and I, we'll drive in the rain to Peoria. I hope you will give me your hand. It's a small town, this world. Wisdom? Truth? Justice? Vaya con dios .. though we drive through the rain like a torrent down the eastern slope of the heavens, like a volcanic Mexico-- I shall drive alongside my dearest Love into a cloudless night head shaven whistling No Detour ahead-----
Jim McCurry was born in Hawthorne, CA (L.A.), and raised in west-central Illinois; went to Knox, Yale, Colorado State, U. of Denver (Ph.D.); has been instructor (English, poetry, bioethics, logic, philosophy) at Carl Sandburg College (Galesburg, Illinois) since 1980.
Recent pubs: Alba, Annetna Nepo, Blue Fifth Review, C/Oasis, Eleven Bulls, Fish Drum, Identity Theory (have a blog there, too), poems Niederngasse, Rio, Snow Monkey, Writers Forum (Gerard Manley Hopkins award, 1999), Zacatecas Review, Zuzu's Petals, &many others.
Jim has two online columns, one at Tryst3, the other at Muse Apprentice Guild.
Contact Jim by e-mail:email@example.com
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