The Weight of Light
By Gary Lemons
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About this ebook
Gary Lemons
Original Grace is the fourth book in the Snake Quartet and the eighth collection of poetry published by Gary Lemons. Gary worked many jobs, mostly involving hard labor outdoors, to underwrite his life as a poet, but the one dearest to his heart is planting over five hundred thousand trees in the logged-off high elevation forests of the Pacific Northwest. He attended the Undergraduate Poetry Workshop at the University of Iowa, where he studied with John Berryman, Donald Justice, Marvin Bell, and Norman Dubie. He now teaches yoga at Tenderpaws Yoga Studio owned jointly with his wife, Nöle Giulini. Gary currently resides in Port Townsend, Washington.
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Book preview
The Weight of Light - Gary Lemons
Winter Tides
1
The last thing I remember—
Before they placed the ether rag
Over my face in preparation for cutting
Off the leg now iridescent as an oil spill
At sunrise—is the surgeon’s yellow teeth
Clenching the stem of a dead cigarette—
I was pulled through the years
Across a pure white snow by my brothers
And sisters between bare hardwood
Trees cut down by partisans
To build an abatis around the last
Outpost of impossible innocence—
In this safe place we agreed—to
Never grow old—protected by gasmasks
From the toxic fumes of legacy dreams—
We stood without weapons like a forest the years
Approach with hatchets and saws to
Turn wilderness into useful things.
We melted the red snow—
Drank the remnant protein in vows pried
From the tongues of our fallen.
The death of the illusion—bah—
What is that to us who never believed
In the ridiculous theatre of clocks.
2
I awaken in the dirt beside
A young woman with no face below
The nose—she has the most
Beautiful green eyes—as if the forest
Grew out of them into me—as
If there was light—and she rising
Up the stem of her spine
From torn earth into the bloom
Coveted by the harvesters.
Outside the bunker a child
Wrestles with a dog for my lost leg—
One—of course—to sup on it—the
Other for the boot and the lace—
This resembles the tomorrow
We thought to prevent—
Littered with blown luggage
And broken vials and wet needles
Of pine fallen on torn flags
In a darkness lit up by fear.
3
A siren with a lute is singing
Across time to all of us—words
She makes up on the spot—her
Unrehearsed lyrics as beautiful
As the light trapped in the folds
Of her tail—like winter inside a
Sun-drenched rose—
She recites the song of icicles
Melting—the sound of bones
Mending—the words we remember
Long after we come down from mountains
To see we are mountains—
The song has many elements—
Mixing restraint and anger into forgiveness—
And leaf mold in ditches—the patrician
Approval of fathers—the historical
Letters signed when love was
As simple as a vineyard by the sea.
4
The train slows for the whistle
Stop known as death—the broken
Petals of wildflowers still blue
In a frozen meadow under snow
Have little to say about the speed
Of light—only the weight of it.
In the gardens of memory a hemophilic
Ghost juggles two-edged swords
Where even the slightest cut causes
Long-forgotten details like sunlight
On a collarbone to bleed out
Into an unexpected fire that vaporizes
The character known as the self—
What’s left after the resistance fails?
The cause now altered by the sacrifice
Of those who died for it—and this is all
The fossils of innocence in the heart will reveal—
The shadows that don’t fade at night—
Dragging each other toward hidden light
As the sun goes down.
A Wealth of Little
This is cold—a blue tremble—
The blizzard is over but inside
The snow still falls—
Image 1—my people
Coughing kerosene—walls like eyes
Remembering the panic of livestock
Trapped by fox as the protection of the last
Dog drips over a yellow flame—
This is a vestige of joy—the quiet
Power of mountains
In the eyes of a something consumed
By and for its sacrifice—
Image 2—bodies fragrant
As birth rags—mountains so sharp the sky
Spreads a destitute form of worship
Over an unforgiving