Motion Stillness
White Afternoon
Diego in Cuffs
Lying here together
in the midnight quiet
on the dark side of a planet
speeding through space
vibrating with atomic tension
revolving like carnival teacups
we’re still here, or nearly still,
you and I, lives rippling like low tide,
like the stretching back of a black cat.
gliding on pond ice
smoking in pale chair beside fireplace
dying under sheets in nursing home
in the midst of a March blizzard
i lie on the couch
swaddled in a blanket
staring out the window
at figures in the falling snow
Diego brings home a duck
from hunting a frozen field
it’s what landscapers do in winter
when there’s no snow to plow
the Jersey cold brittle as possibility,
cold as Gabriela: the fuck,
Diego, how do you cook a duck?
Diego warms to the knife,
presses the feathered neck
on the linoleum counter--
hears fists at the door
the rise of Gabriela’s cry,
sees the look in that damn duck’s eye
cuffs click, the last light switching off
Barry Peters lives in Durham and teaches in Raleigh, NC. Recent/forthcoming publications include The American Journal of Poetry, Best New Poets 2018, I-70 Review, Miramar, The National Poetry Review, Negative Capability, Poetry East, Presence, Rattle, The Southampton Review, South Florida Poetry Journal, and Third Wednesday.
