Elegy with Crop-Duster
Today in the PEN Poetry Series, PEN America features a poem by Paul Hlava.
Elegy with Crop-Duster
Even as we called him he disappeared
walked across the floating pollen golden in the dusk
needles dropping from shaken pines
hay bales I climbed on
to peer down and see
a great big nothingness happening
from field to canal
from canal to the fields beyond
power lines criss-crossing the formlessness of grief
The thought of sky colored the sky
and all the little crawlers hidden in swatches
of ‘round here to Mexico
and Jacqueline cleaning dishes
Bubbles formed and burst and formed and burst
in her clockwise repetition of sponge
while a doll melted in the bonfire of palm fronds in the yard
When one guest sat another one stood
When one guest stood another one sat
Our directives were clear the burnt parts
of flesh were to be scraped from the grill
lilies and carnations gathered and trimmed
and put in vases the pool cleaned
journalist reflected upside down on the surface of water
We were upside down on the surface of her lens
and everything fell from our pockets dollars and coins
long ribbons of receipts our photo ids
Koi flamed upward from the pond
Empty coveralls leaned an elbow on the counter inside
where Jacqueline rinsed a dish a second time
and they were sewn with a name that was also her own
How can something not be what it is
silver stitch of aluminum through mountains to the east
stone now liquid now hex-bolt
in the wing of a crop-duster now stitch in the center
of a badly scarred pine All the albums were empty
in a cardboard box in the corner of the garage
and the shape of things were unclear again
oil-stains the ever-shifting sky
Next question was where to put food
pork roast wrapped up
in the fridge rice in Tupperware
Ernesto’s potato salad still on the arm of the couch
She had never needed so many containers before
and cupboard space was increasingly small
and when would she possibly need them again The smoke that rose
from fields in the distance where farmers burned
straw to seed was drifting particles of carbon and ash
a single muscle that pressed the horizon
and diminished in time
while owls burrowed further into dirt
and ibis and egrets stalked their shadows
in mud of an irrigated farm
The boots of the one-eared coyote pup
ran from our footsteps in the night
Howl howl howl howl In the desert was nothing
not even the desert cold the air in sudden branches
faces that advanced in muffled dark
One after another faces taped to walls
of alleyways of dunes names
and birthdays of the unblinking mass appeared
and vanished in our walking
There was hollowness between our feet and sand
Their voices were whispers Skyscrapers
were swatches of grass that moths ate to the roots
The bells struck midnight Hour hand loosened and fell
in the lung of the dethroned queen
and the storybook was closed Progress could begin
when cameras were put away
and we retreated to our rooms removed our masks
Tragedy was the tragedy inside
Caterpillars released their threads
a hammer buried beneath a root
Jacqueline with a knife in her right hand
before anything else she had to cut avocados
dice an onion dice tomatoes save the seeds for compost
Thus she continued Rhythm
of blade was need the guests had
to be fed One left through the gate Two entered
the sliding-glass door Dinner
was the approach of dinner three yipping birds
light coat of sand swept from stones into pond
mixed with a fork with lemon and salt
trees that grew and grew
The dogs were immediate in their hunger
and time became a single sharp point
in the heart of a yam where there was no separation
between koi and moss
lawn chairs and their layer of dust
coveralls sewn in the clouds
or where I stood with my hand behind the ear of a hound
and Jacqueline who manipulated with a fork and spoon
what was going to be served
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