Vincent Spina


...or a mirror on the night,

for how else are the holes to be filled
or we to cross the shadows to where
refreshments and reminiscence are
being served to the picnickers
(at three the father/daughter soft ball
teams will assemble in West field to stall
the sun.  The rest will be improvised
as though a long history had delivered us
to this day, the one we have constructed
with words, papermaché and hymns
for the occasion).  You see then,

how well the bridges are holding up
—lovers, porn stars, heroes and heroines
villains and villainesses of real life
and cinema, all crossing in their Sunday
finery (never mind to where) despite
our having become such a fat nation
devouring at every turn gobs
of this rarified sense of justice
and glory.   On a lighter note,

no harm came from tracing the moon
or to assigning to her a gender
and a brother, the sun,

or simply to sit here in the encroaching dark,
you next to me, and I next to you,
as though we’d known each other,
and were friends.

Vincent Spina teaches Spanish at Clarion University where is researching the Peruvian author Jose Maria Arguedas. His book of poetry comes out this year from Pecan Grove Press.

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