John Estes
[At the solstice]
At the solstice
the backscatter noise comes
calling: our sun-bound
strait, the straights we bend into
in the name of surviving,
agonizing rejoinders
of nature’s below-the-belt resilience.
I know the sky is moving―
the only lust
is motion―the earth hums
like a motherfucker
but so do these fluorescents.
Down the street at Fred’s party
the tiki lights are lit.
Around the huddled bonfire
his friends circle the coolers close,
some hike their dresses
for the long haul
and into the pool they wade.
John Estes has recent poems appearing in Tin House, Notre Dame Review, Southern Review, Crazyhorse, AGNI and other places. He is the author of Kingdom Come (C&R Press, 2011) and two chapbooks: Breakfast with Blake at the Laocoön (Finishing Line Press, 2007) and Swerve, which won a 2008 National Chapbook Fellowship from the Poetry Society of America.
Return to March 2014 Edition
At the solstice
the backscatter noise comes
calling: our sun-bound
strait, the straights we bend into
in the name of surviving,
agonizing rejoinders
of nature’s below-the-belt resilience.
I know the sky is moving―
the only lust
is motion―the earth hums
like a motherfucker
but so do these fluorescents.
Down the street at Fred’s party
the tiki lights are lit.
Around the huddled bonfire
his friends circle the coolers close,
some hike their dresses
for the long haul
and into the pool they wade.
John Estes has recent poems appearing in Tin House, Notre Dame Review, Southern Review, Crazyhorse, AGNI and other places. He is the author of Kingdom Come (C&R Press, 2011) and two chapbooks: Breakfast with Blake at the Laocoön (Finishing Line Press, 2007) and Swerve, which won a 2008 National Chapbook Fellowship from the Poetry Society of America.
Return to March 2014 Edition