Rose Novick
SELF-PORTRAIT WITH SIMILIES
yet this attempt if
no more suffer
as when the friend across the
chasm outstretches
saying –friend come here is the bridge long-promised–
watching their words sink
through the air the river below voracious
for there is no better in quarantine than
painstaking research
into the cramped space
one inhabits stripped now of all diversion
as when the inchworm
dreaming of transform-
ation casts vainly
for a swaddling mother until giving no
warning it burrows
spinning its own grave
nothing but the mapping of crevices the
doubts that exhaust minds
as when the child
floats a mustard seed on a sea of poppy
only already
knowing what is there to be found long years of
sledging having granted one comfort in the
face of glaciers
as when the old grandmaster
ponderously studies the board considers
each attack and counterattack each tactic
strategy each possible move considers
all this revolves it
in their mind again and again until they
fathom it whole then
ready at long last
offers a draw be-
fore the first move
blackness is sliding down and
it is precisely
this just this that must be explained this ever-
fruiting darkness
as when the night’s recondite
chirr emerges softly at first then louder
louder until its
ordered disorder
springing from nothing
gorges the hollow
and the vague leafless
outlines of trees are
stabbing night air life-barren branches wailing
accusations ringing in earth’s ears blame un-
shaken by wind blame
blame ringing incessantly and the wabash
silent hearing all
do you hear me friend come
SONNET
Take any word FELICITY will do
repeat it so FELICITY and soon the word
will vanish heard FELICITY and again heard
FELICITY so smooth so graceful you
glimmer FELICITY with double drift
the fitting word FELICITY you self-refer
as well the happiness FELICITY for her
who finds FELICITY your fitting gift
The moon FELICITY is beautiful
tonight and new FELICITY forgive that I
must leave FELICITY undone and dull
Are you still there FELICITY
FELICITY
FELICITY good-bye
SONNET
The poem is a flower, found everywhere,
year-round, in plenteous varieties,
not much to look at, little worth our notice,
stem-severed, rootless, quick to wither.
Therefore turn, dear friends, your attention elsewhere:
to rivers decidedly shaping and reshaping
this malleable clod, to mountains jabbing
tectonic anthers at the overbearing sky.
It does not do to dwell on dead things,
past the bloom of their changes, and flowers today
all reek. I find you hidden among them, o
my corpse flower, and if the mammals desert you,
let them. The flesh flies will arrive soon
to pester you with unrelenting praise.