Replacement Songs
This week in the PEN Poetry Series, PEN America features a poem by Barbara Claire Freeman.
Replacement Songs
No one cares who the donor
is they detach photographs
of tiny clouds from their fold
stare at the darkroom how
quiet it was, the image
has already been sent
the arches yellow or turquoise
fireflies cover the ceiling, they
carry nothing that belongs to me
•
Day is gone but not the sun
at one o’clock in the past
the living room grows even
if I’m dreaming Congressmen
text all day into their hands
then disappear among arcades and food trucks
like the instant message the donor is
•
An experiment called soon
I’ll fall asleep in your pick-up
beyond the near grey mountains
smiling up at the moon and
here’s one called the park is vanishing
what I am trying to say is
•
Also, another blade of wheat
just run the poem backward through
white hibiscus opening at night
and that photo I’ll never forget
if he had explosives strapped to his chest
the more we give the less we share
three or four hills and cloud, a line in snow
•
Looks invisible against the sky
and the sky responds is it time for one
run-on sentence fusing sinuous free-verse lines
with something I haven’t done since birth
I have toes I have fingernails
I had a real choice. If I had to, I’d choose
Sundays I rarely leave the house
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