203 NE Angus St

I.  The Back Yard; anti-Wordsworth

I’ve let the yard turn forest. 
Kentucky meadow-
grass cannot bear the

inquisition of Oklahoma sun;
but the bluebonnet, the
dandelion, yes even the daisy

and spiderwort blurt out their palette—
now violet inflorescence, now
the pale pastel of your favorite

sweater—that one you wore when
the early promise of spring bore heat
and rains and frost in dizzying succession.

That I could spread their beauty upon
an infinite canvas, or hold them forever as
some distant thought of spring.  You
will find me thriving among the weeds.

—

II.  The Front Yard and Mara

I planted a Japanese maple
in the front yard, not
knowing whether it

would take to the soil and
Indian summer.  Within two
weeks I spotted small

scarlet leaves unclenching
like the plump fists of
a newborn.  I remember

a time when time
was measured, not
by weekends or work-

related functions, but
by the advent of fireflies
around my mother’s

flowerpots on the patio; and
whether I was bundled in winter
or unfleeced in summer was the concern

of others. I’ve named the tree
Naomi—Pleasantness.
I’ve left mine with you alone.
A child is borne to her.
—

III. Aaron’s Creek

I nabbed my first at twilight, my
second at daybreak when light
clamored over the opposing knoll. The

hook sank into her stomach. I used my
needlenose to twist it free. I daydream
of Claude’s Pagodes. Blood clattered

from gills down my forearm. I lost
count after four. We chuck them all back in.
Aaron’s son lowers his into the water

as one returning a newborn to her crib.
Each an obbligato. We chuckle at
this. At noon the catfish sink

into Aaron’s creek, into
their torpidity, filled with
chum and nightcrawlers

and snapped lines. We
turn to clay pigeons. His
son departs. And

we, with wreaths circleting
our loins, sinking into
our own indelible senescence,
toss and toss.
—

IV.

The evening struggles under
the weight of cigarette smoke,
the weight of a full moon—
nine now between us

Marchiano is a questioning writer and community organizer currently residing in Brooklyn, NY whose work seeks to interrogate the individual, social, and ecological alienation and destruction wrought by the late capital mode of production. Twitter: @the_marchiano.