We are living in paradise.
The front desk is open twenty-four hours,
the police speak seven languages and don’t dwell
on the insults they’ve endured, the hurts they’ve overheard.
Currants in abundance, and purple avocados.
Heaven breaks a bit of bread, pets
the goats. The evening news is sung by sopranos.
Old rivers river, new rivers rend and rake. A spider
makes hay. The sun gu√aws and spackles, it’s sloppy with grace.
Lemons for wounds, liquor for liquor.
I like like you.
Oh but you are a slender green, an antler, a pretty toad.
You parade on my rain, you pirate my stolen sugar.
Am I not entitled to Missouri?
Don’t we all deserve Idaho’s shy lakes?
I can’t relate to you, you’re all I know.
And still the washing machine spins my blood-dark tea towels.
Whales sing to leeks, killers are at peace.
Blades of grass sharpen in afternoon’s abattoir,
now’s our season of threshing, here is our threshold.
Come, dearly beloved, the fiddler’s ready to play.
Jason Myers grew up in the Cumberland Valley of Maryland. He graduated from Bennington College and received an MFA from New York University. He lives with his wife in Atlanta, where he recently received a master of divinity degree from Emory and is a minister at Ebenezer Baptist Church. His work has appeared in American Poet, Ecotone, the Paris Review, and several other journals.
“America Mix-Tape, Track 54” appears in our Autumn 2013 issue.