Eva Knott 8 a.m., Feb. 19
- Anthony Seidman has published articles, poems, short fiction, translations, and reviews.
It was a bus stop, and past midnight
Four poems by Anthony Seidman
Border Town Graduates
- Although we’re closer to feeling
- the grass pulled over our lips forever,
- we still bare our dirty teeth and laugh.
- We managed to look twice our age,
- and now our wrinkles
- won’t be scraped from our mugs
- when we’re given our final shave.
- Such is the residue
- near motels and train tracks;
- such is the cost,
- lacking coolants in this desert.
- Our moon was a pile of bones,
- and our sun a blazing spider;
- when thirsty,
- we savored the taste
- of her venom drunk hot.
Making the Pact Outside Chihuahua
- It was a bus stop, and past midnight
- at a 24 hour diner with smoke
- basted on tile walls, and vats of pork
- boiled in chile rojo sauce.
- I stepped outside; light sped towards
- me from stars and supernovas. A rust-
- flavored wind stirred cobalt clouds,
- and lightning cracked the night, struck
- where sky meets earth, where black
- touches black, and becomes neither.
- Mosquito, the hours
- you live suffice.
- Moon without wings.
- Blue blue of the sky, radiantly coquettish —
- when I stretch up I feel you just within reach.
In 2300 BC, Emperor Yao
- his royal minister
- drunk with courtesans
- behind rice-paper screens
- forgot to
- warn his Lord of
- an eclipse.
- in the thinning
- summer, I write
- between steel-blue sky
- and sand where tarantulas breed,
- and search
- for an omen that
- will fix the moon
- with the roaming, black
- dog of my heart.