1st Cycle + A J Urquidi +
2nd Cycle + Sarah Baker +
3rd Cycle + Nikia Chaney +
LANDSCAPE WITH GODDESS
What we worship must have exotic form
-D. H. Lawrence, "Christs in the Tyrol"
Business drives farm cottages apart as usual.
The udder reigns over
these Tyrolese Alps, while the good people
of the valley nestle under
its dominion. A comfortable country,
the texts concur, to settle down
and take one’s life, or take a hike
across vaguely signed and unmarked margins.
The preponderance of clogs that once fueled
a competitive spirit among the cobblers
turned splenetic when she revealed
(or rather hid) her face in these, her new, parts.
In “June in the Austrian Tyrol” the big
rig we don’t see breaks the peasant’s back.
Travelers like us with pockets full
of harvested radishes must pause for
the white clouds tousled round the mount’s white skull.
Pfennigs lost in the grass-of-Parnassus,
strawberries, pine wood, schoolgirls with glasses:
In these early hours, myths stir the walker,
who presumes to preserve their autotelic telling.
The foothills’ gestures appear to recur,
As evening snow obscures the worn out lines on the map,
we look up from the dwindling white page
to see the highway newly paved. The tractor
breaks off its dialogue with the valley’s cows––
How shall we stroke our radishes?
And eat them, too?
Luckily, we’re not pictured in the postcards we send.
Our guide stops and points to a blank plot
where a castle once stood.
The Alps must begin somewhere. By leaving
the ground, they are their own ground.
That much, from our moment of contact, is obvious.
Her premise is groundlessness.
Circle Poetry Journal///Ministry of Obscure Knowledge © 2015