John Sibley Williams
Like Something Meant to be Looked Back On, Fondly
Foxtail and magnolia. Faulkner dividing his dead between brother
and sister, carpenter and priest. Orchard-mess of early spring
thawing thistly and red. Earth again soft enough to swallow us
whole. The plan was simple: wait and hope to see. Wait among
books and apparitions until light breaks through them. Find a way
of speaking of stars without losing their dazzle. Our voices can’t be
caught in the walls between farms forever. Like bones. There are
wars for this sort of thing. Wars as a boy I watched from one side.
To pass the season, I’m reading infinite narratives of the same
simple story. Almost seeing winter clearly. As around me earth
begins to open its arms to oak. Shovels and moonlight. Broad,
white bulbs. Unfolding; mercy and indifference.
John Sibley Williams is the editor of two Northwest poetry anthologies and the author of nine collections, including Controlled Hallucinations (2013) and Disinheritance (forthcoming 2016). A five-time Pushcart nominee and winner of the Philip Booth Award, American Literary Review Poetry Contest, Nancy D. Hargrove Editors' Prize, and Vallum Award for Poetry, John serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review and works as a literary agent. Previous publishing credits include: The Midwest Quarterly, december, Third Coast, Baltimore Review, Nimrod International Journal, Hotel Amerika, Rio Grande Review, Inkwell, Cider Press Review, Bryant Literary Review, RHINO, and various anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon. Visit him at https://johnsibleywilliams.wordpress.com/
Return to September 2016 Edition
Foxtail and magnolia. Faulkner dividing his dead between brother
and sister, carpenter and priest. Orchard-mess of early spring
thawing thistly and red. Earth again soft enough to swallow us
whole. The plan was simple: wait and hope to see. Wait among
books and apparitions until light breaks through them. Find a way
of speaking of stars without losing their dazzle. Our voices can’t be
caught in the walls between farms forever. Like bones. There are
wars for this sort of thing. Wars as a boy I watched from one side.
To pass the season, I’m reading infinite narratives of the same
simple story. Almost seeing winter clearly. As around me earth
begins to open its arms to oak. Shovels and moonlight. Broad,
white bulbs. Unfolding; mercy and indifference.
John Sibley Williams is the editor of two Northwest poetry anthologies and the author of nine collections, including Controlled Hallucinations (2013) and Disinheritance (forthcoming 2016). A five-time Pushcart nominee and winner of the Philip Booth Award, American Literary Review Poetry Contest, Nancy D. Hargrove Editors' Prize, and Vallum Award for Poetry, John serves as editor of The Inflectionist Review and works as a literary agent. Previous publishing credits include: The Midwest Quarterly, december, Third Coast, Baltimore Review, Nimrod International Journal, Hotel Amerika, Rio Grande Review, Inkwell, Cider Press Review, Bryant Literary Review, RHINO, and various anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon. Visit him at https://johnsibleywilliams.wordpress.com/
Return to September 2016 Edition