Featured Poet: Mark Saba

 Mark Saba has been writing fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction for 40 years. His most recent book publication is Flowers in the Dark (poetry). Other works include Calling the Names (poetry), Two Novellas: A Luke of All Ages / Fire and Ice, and Ghost Tracks: Stories of Pittsburgh Past. His work has appeared widely in literary magazines around the U.S. and abroad. He is also a painter, and recently retired from Yale University as a medical illustrator and graphic designer. Please see marksabawriter.com.

Louis Rakes The Hedges

 

Louis rakes the hedges clean,

leaving me with tangled thoughts

watching from the window.

 

He works with one bandaged arm,

stooping carefully, digging out debris

and carrying it off like a box

full of puppies.

 

Yesterday I cleaned the hearth

and scattered rose petals over the remnant

ash. Their red lips circle in the white

and ignite flames of memory

where once charred logs stood.

 

This spring we see flowers developing

in all stages; that common freak, weather,

has torn us again, leaving the magnolia

two weeks behind, and the hyacinths

double-stalked. I will wait

 

and let Louis comb the yard,

setting in the even parts

and picking up the pieces

of a winter of storms.

 

And I will wait for another cold day

when the rose petals have all dried

and their scent blazes the dusty air

in the crackling flames of chance.

 

Switching Glasses

 

Mine are new, triple-focus

lenses, requiring some getting used to.

 

Hers haven’t changed since her fourth-grade

eye examination, a lifetime

 

of fumbling in the dark, zeroing in

on my lips, cleaning contacts.

 

So now, after fifteen years, we switch

glasses. “You look cute in mine,” she says.

 

To me, all is equally blurry.

“Wo!” She pulls back. “These make me

 

dizzy.” We look around—profiles

of curious chickens—then give

 

each other back. Comfort

lies in our individual worlds

 

and the infinite getting-to-know

from our views of finite selves.