{"id":2268,"date":"2017-10-03T19:38:55","date_gmt":"2017-10-03T19:38:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/floridareview.cah.ucf.edu\/?post_type=article&p=2268"},"modified":"2017-10-03T19:38:55","modified_gmt":"2017-10-03T19:38:55","slug":"five-poems-from-atopia","status":"publish","type":"article","link":"https:\/\/cah.ucf.edu\/floridareview\/article\/five-poems-from-atopia\/","title":{"rendered":"Five Poems from Atopia"},"content":{"rendered":"
I like to photograph old signs \nwhen I drive along the Emerald Coast.\n\u201cFlorida Hotel: American Owned\u201d and\n\u201cRachel\u2019s Restaurant\u201d I dreamed \na beautiful poem up by the sea but\nforgot it by morning; Make America \nGreat Again vs Occupy Wall Street.\nWe talked about extreme weather \nand the stock market in the Gulf,\nthe water fluctuating around the sun\nand pelicans, text message alerts\nfor tornados and when I got home \nI googled sinkholes and clicked on\nthe interactive map\u201414 by 12 foot,\n8 by 6, 1 by 1, and read the warning \nsigns, maybe the doors to your house\ndon\u2019t close, maybe there are cracks\nin the walls, maybe there are depressions\nin your lawn,<\/em> now imagine a bed\nand furniture instantly falling into\nthe lawmaker\u2019s hand holding up a piece\nof limestone talking about an amendment\nwhich will outlaw fracking in Florida forever \n\u201cI\u2019ve changed positions,\u201d she says, \u201cLook\nat this limestone. It\u2019s fragile. It\u2019s porous\u201d\nand wishing I remembered my dream\nof the sea by the sea, the dream enclosed\nin the bulb of the sun, my body\ncovered by seawater, \u201cIt was almost\nlike there were colored rings around\nthe sun\u201d your dad, the archaeologist, said\nand driving home, the eye-level pelicans\nand their prehistoric flight, seemed\ncalm, the bridge both flowing into\nand forged by the metallic clouds\n\u2014<\/strong><\/span>\nPhilomel, lost cause, not quite, operatic as doves\n <\/span>the oatmeal is cooking this morning and it will be a long\nhurricane season from June\n <\/span>to October, that season of hell as we approach\n <\/span>an apocalypse, as showers fill the heart unable\n\n <\/span>to process what is happening.\n <\/span>Alone in your cabin, the outside world\n <\/span>has a tongue, has words, scrolled\n <\/span>and scrawled along the ridges of the bleak sky. \n\n <\/span>Oh Philomel, I have no pictures to post, no landscapes\n <\/span>to paint, my song is sung in vain, and it is composed \n <\/span>of rubble. Fear not, Philomel.\n\t\t\t\nNow the oatmeal burns inside its weeping pot\n <\/span>and revenge is its own constellation of anguish,\n <\/span>its own pattern of swallows moving across\n <\/span>the luxuriant atmosphere.\n\n <\/span>Personal history? What can we really\n <\/span>make of it after so many years? \n\n <\/span>The metal bends, the apartment saturated with ash.\n\u2014<\/strong><\/span>\nOur masters shift; this is the definition \nof domination\nStill, Esmerelda, if you would like to take \na dip in the filthy lake, I\u2019m game \nand if you still have the impulse to be mesmerized by love,\nI\u2019m down for that too\n\nI can even transform into a nude before your very eyes \nI promise\nI can become just like a painting of paradise from the olden days\n\nWe could do this for a little while\nbefore we have to go back to work again\n\ninside the impenetrable flesh factory\nwhere the meat screams\n\neven though it is already dead\nI\u2019ve never known why this is \n\nWhy does it scream night and day?\nMaybe because it has no identity \n\nEsmerelda, they want our blood because \nthey must know how sunny it is\n\nhow, long ago, we fed the horses and wept and sang \nby the fireplace; they must know\n\nthat we had such intense passions, \nthat we thought the grasshoppers\n\neating the yellow fields were beautiful\n\nand we looked at both the creatures\nand the fields with a kind of awe\n\nOur masters did not like this and our passions \nhad to be held down\nby a corresponding cruelty\n\nthe formal laws of the state\nO the networks\nof subjection are infinite\n\u2014<\/strong><\/span>\n
Read of an ICE raid:\nmen, women and children sent\nto a detention center\nin Crawfordville, Florida\n\nTurn the page\n\nBought erasers, pencils and summer\nworkbooks for my children\n\nThis is a cell\nAll living things are made of cells\n\nThis is the earth\nThe earth is always changing<\/em>\n\nIf lyric poetry is cruel, I am forlorn\nat the loss of our wilderness\n\nThere really is an \u201canti-parks\u201d\ncongressional caucus whose aim\nis to shovel the plants and rocks\nand trees into black plastic bags\nand throw those bags into the sea\n\nIt is important to stay safe in Science\nHow do we stay safe?\nFollow the rules and use the right tools <\/em>\n\nThe goddesses of Sunday welcome you\nWe bring you this bowl of peaches\nand serve you with our porcelain fingers\n\nHere is a napkin\nHere is a knife\n\nYour wife and children\nare welcome too<\/div>\u2014<\/strong><\/span> \nGlandular fever punctuated by tropical storm Cindy which\nwas a dud; many weeks of rain, the lymph nodes swollen, many weeks\nof wind while my children play inside the supernova-like sinkhole,\nGreen tea and raw honey even though bees struggle for survival, Alex\nsearching for climate-controlled storage spaces, I yelled at everyone, the black\ndiamond and rattlesnake rattle fell upon me, I could tell you were trying\nto communicate, I suspected it was your fault, seizure like substance\nof air turned to current, maybe I blamed you for my illness, I knew\nyou were the one taking me down through this amber realm,\nthis dream space, fragile, filled with neurons, jammed with signals\nsignals from the dead, then the realm spilled into the black hole\nof the summer solstice and out of the storm; O Angel, you were born.<\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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