For today, I'd like to share brief excerpts of two
Mary Ruefle poems. From her book
Trances of the Blast (Wave Books, 2013), here's a glimpse of "Poem Written Before I Was Born":
I enter the internectarine world.
The stone is there, at last.
The seed is there, in that.
Now I will eat the rest of the flesh
of the nectarine fruit
the way all things eat each other
in the world at large,
And the last lines of "Ars Poetica," a dreamy poem from the same collection:
Look, he said, nothing remains of anybody,
everything is aimless here.
We wanted to follow a flying squirrel
to the home of time, but everything
exploded into fuzz.
We knew whose it was.
26 of 30. Happy National Poetry Month!
