Over the River
by Jason Myers
When I was a child
is one of my favorite
ways to begin a story.
To be direct is not
my business, nor light’s,
nor wind’s. Study the difference
between myth & memoir.
I haven’t forgotten
the translations of my father’s
smiles into Hebrew. How
every word is related
to God & also a pun, ha ha.
How when he took me
to the house where he grew up
we couldn’t go inside.
How I’ve never been
to my mother’s hometown.
Again with the plenitude of morning.
Sleep makes way for attention
as sadness enlarges the heart,
organ of distraction & melted butter,
soft metal & hoops of negligent silk.
The space a pond offers willow trees
to reflect their drunken fringe is the same
as the room the body sets aside
to be bedazzled.
The sound our God makes
going through the generous
neck of a swan imitates
a cellar where, jealous
of time, wine embarks
on its journey toward
rot or refinement. Why
five senses? Why four
seasons? Why so many
ways for the mind to be
deceived, to think it is
holding what it cannot hold?
This is the point
of returning to the same
window over & over:
Jason Myers is Editor-in-Chief of EcoTheo Review. His work has appeared in The Believer, The Paris Review, and elsewhere. A National Poetry Series finalist, he lives with his family outside Austin, Texas.
