Below Buffalo Willows


Give us a kiss. Goodbye, dear. The buffalo
willows were full of hurt, and then the fire died.
Kiss the neck, the nape, the cheek. Somehow we survive
all the depths of deaths living gifts us. I have cried.
I am not a we, but you are me,
and we are here. Whenever we die. Wherever
we had lived before, with the sheep, the cattle,
all the long grass long as a ribbed rib of sleep.
Yes, there was dust. We slept the animal.
We slipped back and forth many times until
we got it right. The woman the man hoped
to be was scarred. The man she bled, hurt.
Say some touch or other. The way we hold
a hand grieves us tough gusts that beat us
back. A kiss. Give it. Grieve it. Give us a way.
This mouth or that, we are all tick-tonguing
our way around the tree bark of the heart. Say something.
This time. Anything. Nothing would be enough.



Photo By: Linden Tea

Giving = Loving. We are able to bring you content such as this through the generous support of readers like yourself. Please help us deliver words to readers. Become a regular Patreon Subscriber today. Thank you!


About Author

George Kalamaras, Poet Laureate of Indiana, is the author of seven books of poetry and seven chapbooks, including The Mining Camps of the Mouth (2012), winner of the New Michigan Press/DIAGRAM chapbook contest, Kingdom of Throat-Stuck Luck (2011), winner of the Elixir Press Poetry Prize, and The Theory and Function of Mangoes (2000), winner of the Four Way Books Intro Prize. His poems have appeared in The Best American Poetry (on two occasions), Denver Quarterly, The Iowa Review, Kenyon Review, New Letters, North American Review, and many other anthologies and journals. He is Professor of English at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, where he has taught since 1990.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: