Joseph Hutchison

Sun, 15 Aug 2010 00:00:00 GMT

Alba

We . . .discover ourselves
‘in joy' as ‘in love'.
—Denise Levertov

June dawn-light kindles
a half-dozen windows
along the street.
A breeze lifts, gentles
among the maples,

carries voices and songs
(sieved from the air
by two or three radios)
to this harbor of attention
I've anchored in. (My pen's

nib scrapes the page
like chain on a boat-rail,
and my vision
drifts). Deep shadows
spring from small things—

pebbles, forgotten toys,
newspapers—and stretch
out over grass still wet
with the glittering blood
of stars. Everything's

drenched, vivid, the whole
morning turned to a clear
pool of wax . . . the magus sun
burning it all the way back
to a clear blue candle

Joseph Hutchison

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

The Things That Carried Them

Mother.
Cradle. Basinette. Crib.
Shoulders. Snugli. Stroller. Car seat.
Pull sled. Saucer. Double-bladed ice skates.
Tricycle. Pedal car. Roller skates. Scooter.
Training-wheel bicycle. Skateboard. Ten speed.
Monkey bars. Merry-go-round. Swing set. Slide.
Cottonwood treehouse. Willow-branch swing.
Bumper car. Paddle boat. Ferris wheel. Flying Eagle.
Carousel. Roller coaster. Tilt-a-Whirl. Scrambler.
Rubber raft. Rowboat. Aluminum canoe.
Skateboard. Ten speed. Snowboard. Skis.
Mini bike. City bus. Daddy's car. Beater car.
Chevrolet. Volkwagen. Datsun. Subaru.
SUV. ATV. Crotch Rocket. Chopper.
Sailboat. Bass boat. Bowrider. Jet Ski.
Parasail. Parachute. Hot air balloon.
Helicopter. Gulfstream. Seven-forty-seven.
Booster rocket. Space Shuttle. SpaceShipOne.
U2. F-15. B-1B. C-130.
Stretcher. Gurney. Wheelchair. Crutches.
Stretcher. Gurney. Body bag. Coffin.
Coffin. Coffin. Coffin.
Earth.

Joseph Hutchison

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

Yoga

for Melody

The teacher guides their breath
into a depth his doesn’t like
at first. He lets her make
his lungs plump up, then

lead his body into Downward
Facing Dog. The class has seen
what her body does; but his—his
just isn’t made the same. Her glance

argues, All you lack is discipline.
Why? Those years in school,
outwitting bullies, making grades,
escaping into books—didn’t his body

bear him like a mule on its back?
Suddenly, tremors invade his arms—
but the teacher’s fierce. “Hold it. Hold it.”
He breathes into his shaky limbs

because she says he can . . . breathes
(it hits him) because she breathes
so beautifully. It must be her
he wants to breathe in! “Good,”

she announces. “Child’s Pose.”
He collapses with the rest, folded
around his secret. Or do the others
sense how intently he listens

as her naked feet brush the bare
wood floor? Now she halts, inches
from his tucked head. “Just relax,”
she says. And he tries. He tries!

“And don’t forget to breathe.”

Joseph Hutchison

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 00:00:00 GMT

One Clear Moment in August

When I let the long snake
of water in the garden hose
out into the garden, sun
sparkled along its sleek length.
How it split, multiplied, flashed
down the rows of ripe corn—
like desire that ripples
among beautiful women,
or some promise that threads
the dreams of sleepers, linking
scattered towns. So the water
snake touched onion greens
and pepper stalks, carrot-leaf
sprays, thick bursts of broccoli,
muttering to the roots: Here I am,
as always, to give you strength.
There is nothing to fear.
This kiss is forever.