Brutal

  

She said In a country in rain

 

I entered the church with the others, a church

 

what we enter in rain, here the large

 

shopmart with trees inside

 

becoming open air again, the people

 

would’ve been here already He said 

 

In which I carried you and

 

when you grew too heavy to carry I

 

carried you through the shallows of the bay

 

 

Century-Swept

  

He said The grasses are dying from the wetness

 

this spring which is also fertile, you have strung yarn

 

through the branches, I garden

 

with a glove with barbed wire inside She said As trees

 

coaxed to fruit in bottles, bangled

 

on their limbs and let rot unto ferment, I saw

 

the cozened plank over two furrows, tried to distinguish

 

between eros and art mostly felt I should

 


Century-Swept


She said I proposed to travel

 

asking anyone what’s the most beautiful

 

thing you have seen

 

then I’d go to it and the route

 

would take me south, I remember

 

water tanks over

 

the hospital grounds with axes

 

to topple them and flood

 

the hospital grounds when there is a fire,

 

I held the kettle at a boil, Of memory as current

 

perception not nostalgia


each blow recalled all others

 

and softened them, so I took them in

 

________________________________________


Zach Savich is the author of three collections of poetry, including The Firestorm, as well as a book of prose, Events Film Cannot Withstand. He teaches at Shippensburg University and serves as an editor with The Kenyon Review.