intermission
1
(deep summer)
By all things planetary, sweet, I swear
Those hands may not possess these hands again
Until I get me gloves of ice to wear.
Because you are the headiest of men!
Your speech is whiskey, and your grin is gin.
I am well drunken. Is there water near?
I’ve need of wintry air to crisp me in.
—But come here—let me put this in your ear:
I would not want them now! You gave me this
Wildness to gulp. Now water is too pale.
And now I know deep summer is a bliss
I have no wish for weathering the gale.
So when I beg for gloves of ice to wear,
Laugh at me. I am lying, sweet, I swear!
2
High up he hoisted me, and cruel rock
Was lovely for a love seat. Then our talk
Came, making sweet-mouth waves ridiculous,
Who could not hope to honey it with us.
High up he hoisted me, after the year.
And rock was silly business for a chair.
We tried to make the waves ridiculous.
But sweet-mouth waves got very square with us.
3
Stand off, daughter of the dusk,
And do not wince when the bronzy lads
Hurry to cream-yellow shining.
It is plausible. The sun is a lode.
True, there is silver under
The veils of the darkness.
But few care to dig in the night
For the possible treasure of stars.
Notes:
The portfolio this poem is part of is comprised of selections from a new seventy-fifth anniversary edition of Annie Allen (Brooks Permissions, 2024), and published here by permission of Nora Brooks Blakely. You can read the rest of the portfolio in the September 2024 issue.
Source: Poetry (September 2024)