FURTHER WHISPERS
by Carl Boon
How about remembering this instead of
the day you decided not to braid your hair?
And standing on the platform
in the sun, of course,
he whispered: I love you very much.
The time is here with need
and cut roses. Offers come alive
with flowers, with tears, with twenty-seven
disks of gold stitched to your dress.
How about going away? he whispered,
then the sun did, and two strands
of your hair doubled the world.
But the world was always doubled,
a movie scene, a drunk noticing a knife
on a table. You were fortunate, you were me,
spinning logic and action into one.
I can’t know the night, the later, further
whispers. Perhaps heat, or a song
you knew as a child, and sung
to keep that very night away. He said,
I’ve always loved the shapes your eyes make
when no one’s looking. He said
many things, unfortunate and not,
as poets do. And washed, and brought
berries on a plate. It was warm.
Your skin retained a surprise, and the sea
washed over immovable rocks.
_____________________________________________________
Carl Boon lives and works in Istanbul, Turkey. His poems were
recently published or are forthcoming in Posit, The Tulane Review,
Badlands, JuxtaProse, The Blue Bonnet Review, and many other
magazines.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2015 Next Page ►
How about remembering this instead of
the day you decided not to braid your hair?
And standing on the platform
in the sun, of course,
he whispered: I love you very much.
The time is here with need
and cut roses. Offers come alive
with flowers, with tears, with twenty-seven
disks of gold stitched to your dress.
How about going away? he whispered,
then the sun did, and two strands
of your hair doubled the world.
But the world was always doubled,
a movie scene, a drunk noticing a knife
on a table. You were fortunate, you were me,
spinning logic and action into one.
I can’t know the night, the later, further
whispers. Perhaps heat, or a song
you knew as a child, and sung
to keep that very night away. He said,
I’ve always loved the shapes your eyes make
when no one’s looking. He said
many things, unfortunate and not,
as poets do. And washed, and brought
berries on a plate. It was warm.
Your skin retained a surprise, and the sea
washed over immovable rocks.
_____________________________________________________
Carl Boon lives and works in Istanbul, Turkey. His poems were
recently published or are forthcoming in Posit, The Tulane Review,
Badlands, JuxtaProse, The Blue Bonnet Review, and many other
magazines.
◄ Previous page Apple Valley Review, Fall 2015 Next Page ►
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Apple Valley Review:
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 10, Number 2
(Fall 2015)
Copyright © 2015
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
A Journal of Contemporary
Literature
ISSN 1931-3888
Volume 10, Number 2
(Fall 2015)
Copyright © 2015
by Leah Browning, Editor.
All future rights to material
published in the Apple
Valley Review are retained
by the individual authors
and artists.
www.applevalleyreview.com
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