Poem: Nestor Olgia | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram

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Poem: Nestor Olgia

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I know a house built of all white wood

which hangs barely on a bluff above an

asphalt sea. I swam there a long time ago,

so come back with me, let's get up and go


and you can feel the waves lurch underfoot

in their own frozen way. They're smaller now

than yesterday. But I don't care, besides

to swim you'd have to tie up your hair, and


look we've already come far. Can't you see?

Can't you see? The captain sailed us toward the

West, but I wouldn't go, no I have my own

quest to head back to weathered memory.


The waves lurch underfoot in their own frozen way.

They're smaller now than yesterday.


But we're here at my old house, no

more sailing left for us, just notice

how it hugs the hill. In the center of

the driveway, you must have seen the lotus:


It is a great big tree and the branches

crack outward in a hundred writhing ways

like the brain widening in disarray

to capture dreams on breezy autumn days.


The waves lurch underfoot in their own frozen way.

They're smaller now than yesterday.


Enough of this stubborn sea. Real water flows

and I know where to go. Come down with me,

down the hill under the charming lotus

tree and swim in this stream from my childhood.


Don't you remember how the water, cold

as ice cream on your teeth, sprung out

from magic? The awe should not be old.

The chill forced life in me and made me bold.


The waves lurch back behind, and frozen they will stay.

They're smaller now with everyday.


I'm heading forward now to the stream's mouth,

where muck pools out of a plaster pipe. There

I saw you last, years ago, picking worms

up off of the concrete when it rained, and

putting them further up the creek

past all confusion.


I stood and watched you, but when I went to join

my feet went in another direction.

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