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Vol. III, Issue 1
September 2007
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North of the South, East
of the West
By Jared White
The people from hither gather. If there is a valley
Profit. If nighttime, wait for day and wake at dawn.
I used to believe that this was why it worked
But now I know it’s really who is there that matters.
In the grassland artists infest the fields with visions
Of the world. Other viable explanations remain
For what is already settled and solved terrain.
Where did the land go in the pond? Dredge and see
Everything you are missing. Before I would have
Drafted the landscape alone and had done with it.
But the actual dirt is necessary even for thought
In the wilderness declared a farm. A team of Jasons
Disillusioning the animals who creep close by and
Pity us amateurs. Either some disappoint others
Or the others some. Would you rather I told you
Bad news or somebody else did? I value our talks
Like in an Agatha Christie novel. Did you solve
The problem of society made from ideas? Shelter
A lean-to made of twigs and grass and paper?
Next you’ll be telling me this is our home and these
Are my real parents. Do you like the traveling
Or the arriving? We have to decide sooner or later.
Population comes from an agreement about excrement
And what to do with it. How does it look in Iceland
Or in New York City? London of another century?
Every harvest I think this has to be the last possible way
To smother a season peaceably. Lay down the crop
And hide it inside you till it gets too cold for that
Outdoor feast. Over your shoulder and behind your
back
I’m watching and smacking. Don’t mind if I do.
We’ve got to stay close to see the features not as
parallax.
Agree to agree that we’ll give what the people want
To other people than ourselves. Adopt an origin story
For an antihero with an anticlimax. Are you an
aesthete
Or on anaesthetics? Pumpkins flourish underneath
The cornstalks. Did I solve the whodunit therein?
A corn maze cut through the corn back to the yard
I came from? I can’t imagine. It has to be long
Division on an abacus. People could live here
If they tried. It’s too bad they have to go home
For dinner. Do you wish that we could stay, too?
Maybe we can. Every solution needs water and sun.
Copyright © Jared White
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Jared White’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Another Chicago, Barrow Street, LVNG, Moria, Sawbuck, Verse and elsewhere. He was runner-up for the Meridian Editor’s Prize and finalist for Crazyhorse‘s Lynda Hull Poetry Prize this year. He recently finished MFA poetry studies at Columbia University and currently lives in Brooklyn NY.
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