{"id":22216,"date":"2024-09-13T13:30:00","date_gmt":"2024-09-13T11:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/de\/?post_type=stsp_text&p=22216"},"modified":"2024-09-17T14:25:01","modified_gmt":"2024-09-17T12:25:01","slug":"poems_sylvia_fox","status":"publish","type":"stsp_text","link":"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/en\/text\/poems_sylvia_fox\/","title":{"rendered":"Poems"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

ANOTHER BIRD POEM<\/strong>

\u201cI guess I\u2019m the last of my generation.\u201d
In the pocket of a walker, a bag of birdseed.
Lovebirds flirt on the patio, preen, groom,
a new nest in the treehouse, a nickel for every bird poem
and I\u2019d pay off death a little longer.
It\u2019s just us, me and this poem for an old Hungarian,
and sunlight through the window after
another tornado touched down in Fort Worth



NAMESAKE ELEGY<\/strong>

i.
haven\u2019t i forgotten every funeral
and wrapped my grief instead
to too broad grizzled trunks
my tongue xxxxxx<\/mark> tucked into ancient hollow
bodies in xxxxxxxx<\/mark> a yawning cavernous depression
haven\u2019t i xxxxxxxxxx<\/mark> only entombed in gaping seas
discovered xxxxxxx<\/mark> in this grief anything
real, asking xxxxxx<\/mark> old trees to teach
me how to live a long time
how to go and
how to say goodbye<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ii.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

something like the sound of running
water or birds,
the purple
light
of loss
comes twice
a day, sun comes early,
summer morning
windowless
i am at risk
of being lost
myself<\/p>\n\n\n\n

iii.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

she is
gone
home
haunting
land she used to call
me
i bring
her home
she haunts me
home
i
am
a poem
she used to call
home<\/p>\n\n\n\n

iv.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

she is
gone
<\/mark>home
haunting
land she used to call
me
i bring
her <\/mark>home<\/strong>
she haunts me<\/mark>
home<\/strong>
i
am
a poem
she used to call<\/mark>
home<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n





THIRD STEP HAIBUN<\/strong>

Flooded fields drown cattle while she looks on from a second story window, the space set for redemption one room over. This is what it\u2019s come to, eavesdropping on zoom meetings through thin walls while her father works the steps. Dusk breaks over river cattle, kitchen cattle, bog bodies.

All our poems Aubades
choking on sunsets.
Fathers, our only language.




FOR BALTIMORE<\/strong>

Who in this city hasn\u2019t
knelt in the steam of the
hot shower and begged
hands to gaping
mouth as if the
sound escaped
from this and not
the shining black throat
of the hooded crow
perched at the window,
to be made new, for grief
of any colors but these
\u2014or was it the raven?
Domino Sugars sign dancing, minstrel,
lolling body in the back seat under blue light xxxxx<\/mark> dancing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

ANOTHER BIRD POEM \u201cI guess I\u2019m the last of my generation.\u201dIn the pocket of a walker, a bag of birdseed.Lovebirds flirt on the patio, preen, groom,a new nest in the treehouse, a nickel for every bird poemand I\u2019d pay off death a little longer.It\u2019s just us, me and this poem for an old Hungarian,and sunlight […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":22125,"template":"","categories":[60,11],"class_list":["post-22216","stsp_text","type-stsp_text","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-29","category-lyrik"],"yoast_head":"\nPoems - stadtsprachen<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/stadtsprachen.de\/de\/text\/poems_sylvia_fox\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale:alternate\" content=\"de_DE\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Poems - 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