3 poems
Corridors
Knee-Deep
Among the raucous ralliers,
sat a man more still
than rest—a heron waiting
knee-deep in lake
among marauding gulls—
as the Narcissus
who would be king
made love to his own polemic
the people reflected
like whitewater.
The placid man
did not react on cue—
not cheering with his fellows,
not laughing, not waving
a sign, perhaps listening
intently to the speaker—
but more likely,
to some inner piper
inviting wandering—
not shouting agreement
or invective, as they all
were exhorted, not praising
his invisible clothes,
as the would-be emperor
spoke of all they should
fear and loathe—
the man’s face
wore an expression
of hope that shone
like a lone flashlight
in a mansion
the lack of power
made dark.
Dark Suite for My Country
I.
Dark as an overcast night,
licorice, ink, ravens, outer space.
Let me see the beauty
in crows mowing silence
like hundred rusty tractors,
or a crowd calling for murder—
and the peace in sleeping
in my closed eyes’ night,
the safety in waking
in darkness none may penetrate.
II.
In darkness none may penetrate,
lies dark money without which
less corrupt politicians might win;
less partisan judges be anointed,
less partial justice apportioned;
and privilege be less limited—
none yet have proved it.
can’t be infinite as space-time,
or imagination or grace—so, give it
like sun gives light to everyone.
III.
Like sun gives light to everyone,
dark matter gives gravity to galaxies
that would otherwise fly apart
from centers no longer holding.
Say eighty-five percent of matter is dark,
named for not interacting with light,
for being invisible—which is not the same
except in dark skin color in America,
America, where we can do more than hope
for the energy to change.
IV.
For the energy to change,
look to dark: sixty-eight percent
of everything, its endless potential
permeates space, accelerates
universal expansion, peels galaxies
from each other like dividing cells,
begetting new galaxies,
as rogue planets and ejected stars
roam the empty outer spaces,
in the dark energy of infinite possibility.
V.
In the dark energy of infinite possibility,
let freedom ring, in the World Wide Web,
in the deep, and dark web,
allowing us to be anonymous
if we wish, independent, but connected,
not indexed by search engines
or police states, free to navigate
information, communication,
to salve trials and tribulation,
as dark humor makes light of dark matters.
VI.
As dark humor makes light of dark matters,
lave me with a soft summer night,
warm air alive with a symphony
of invisible insects we never knew
kept humans from going extinct;
bathe me in the scent of peonies
and roses, of fungus and bark, of earth,
and grasses I can only guess at,
in the silken dusk I don like lingerie,
as I lay me down to sleep,
dark as an overcast night.
April Ossmann is the author of Event Boundaries (a finalist for the 2018 Vermont Book Award), and Anxious Music (both from Four Way Books) and has published her poetry widely in journals including New England Review, Colorado Review and Harvard Review, and in anthologies. Her poetry awards include a 2013 Vermont Arts Council Creation Grant and a Prairie Schooner Readers’ Choice Award. Former executive director of Alice James Books, she owns a poetry consulting business (www.aprilossmann.com), offering manuscript editing, publishing advice, tutorials, and workshops. She is a former faculty editor for the low-residency MFA in Creative Writing Program at Sierra Nevada College, and lives in Hartford, Vermont.