kris t kahn

WHAT WE WILL PLANT

Something is changing or shifting its course.
we catch hints of its scent -- hibiscus or
sulfur or Auschwitz -- on the breeze as
from the kitchen we watch
the citadel's weathervane turn and

this Something is not a concoction of ours,
it is nothing we can bury
in the vegetable garden among
the turnips and hope that
spring will keep restrained,
it is not anything divine
or which can be discussed easily
in anthropomorphic terms:
we all know
a storm is a storm is
much more than
all gods fucking
weeping though

where shall we run for cover, in the shed or in the copse?
from where will the pieces of jagged hill be flung and
from whose veined fists? how much longer
until the citadel loses its head for then

we will be staring
nostrils flared
face-to-face
with what stands behind
the wind, that which we
cannot name, its

hands full of earth
and our purpled premature turnips.

Date of Birth: July 17, 1979 Location: New Jersey Email: blackswan2@aol.com Website: http://analecta.net/blackswan/ Publications: The 2River View, Naked Poetry, The Cortland Review, Stirring, etc. Chapbook: The Gospel According to Thomas Editor of: Sometimes City

- March 2002 - Dear Anna Sonnets in a Land of Prose Calling The Minnows Oxford Blue Ficus Aurea Playing it Back what we will plant unto the breech some more Ars Poetica Elegy For My Mother Standing Under a Street Lamp on the Corner of Brice Court Escaping the terrible fish Sadie song for stephanie it will always be the season of famine somewhere Adieu - John Turner's Best Of - the disgruntled women's chorus sings accompaniment on the beta male blues How to Build an Impossible Staircase Trying to Raise the Dead How to Kiss The Grassfires of the Resistance Rishikesh