Jim Trainer


In Jim Trainer, National Poetry Month, poem, Poetry on April 13, 2015 at 12:01 am

nightly, in the lamplight, poems
rising from the wasted dusk
with the nightbird’s song
up here, in the writer’s chair
a museum curator
with a divining rod
can I talisman
the relics, the wrecks, locks of black hair
and heavy dead coins
into a specific and undeniable truth?
do I deserve to be so lucky?
can I spin the characters,
of memory
and molt the meaning of what was
into something tangible, something
to work with
an easel or a target?
can I make petition
with these poems
to the girl who walked on
and went west to become
a woman,
to the woman who came
up from the south
to be held in my arms
like a child?


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