Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

The Inescapable Day

Academic journal article Michigan Quarterly Review

The Inescapable Day

Article excerpt

As these days go by, each day

I feel that someone is calling

out in the wind

I feel a distant

acquaintance is calling me

from deep inside foggy roads

the familiar song of his voice is

like light passing

like new year passing

like the sound of day coming

the inescapable day that is coming

the day when bowed passersby

might have a moment

to raise their heads

and see

the sun in the sky

the day when this old train

on repetitive, parallel tracks

might stop a moment for no reason

so sleepy, tired eyes

behind the windows

can look in the water

at the framed image of clouds

and the sketch

of the inverted forest

the day

sincere hands begin

to flutter in search

of friends

the day of new flight

the day letters are all opened

the day when instead of paper

and postmarks and stamps

we might sign the wings of doves

and send them like letters

mailboxes that day are

the nests of doves

the day no pleading hands stretch forth

the day begging is a sin

and God's creation

won't sleep on newspapers

on sidewalks under pedestrians' feet

and won't dream of fresh bread

the day when over doors

in plain lettering is written:

"Only Entry Bowed-Down Prohibited"

and proud, tired knees

will not touch the dirt

except at the feet of love

and the real-life stories of today

will be only dreams and fantasies

and have happy endings

like old fairy tales

the day of abundant smiles

unstinting smiles

smiles the eyes do not deny

the day

the laws of kindness call

for smiles without expectation

the day when poets

are not obliged to sell

their smiles in narrow

cubicles of rhyme

the day when there's no talk

of the price of feelings

as if they were clothes

pressed butterflies that day

will fly out from between

the pages of poetry books

and in the mouth of machine guns

sleep will yawn

and worn out army boots

will be knotted with cobwebs

in the corners of old museums

the day when rifles

in children's hands

will burp wind

the day when green won't yellow

flowers have permission

to blossom

wherever they like

hearts have permission

to break

wherever they must

the mirror has no right

to lie to the eyes

the wall has no right

to rise without windows

the day

the walls of gardens and schools are

and only

an imaginary fence

is built around the far edges of gardens

so flying over them is easy

the day the sun rises

from the pockets of schoolchildren

the day when the green garden of the alphabet

the day when the lesson of the water is public

the sea and the sun

are the monopoly of no ones eye

the day the sky

does not long for stars

the day when yearning for such a day

needs no metaphor

О good days, you are on the way! …

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