Tuesday, April 1, 2008


The first two sections of Troy Jollimore's poem "Light"



When the gates were finally thrown open and the world
was filled with light,
no one, at first, could see a thing--it was overwhelming:
from utter, infinite darkness into blazing, limitless
but then they began to adjust, and to look on things
for the first time.
And they were amazed to discover that some things--
ice, to take an example--
looked the way they felt; and that some--like rain,
for instance--
looked the way they sounded; and that the wind, which could
feel like rushing water
and sound like a wounded animal, did not, at least for the most part,
look like anything at all. It was all so new to them
that they declared a public holiday and closed down all the shops,
the banks, the government offices, the libraries, the schools,
and they just walked around and looked at things, then gathered to compare notes,
and each person wondered whether or not he ought to admit to the others
that he wasn't sure that he liked it, that he felt just a bit afraid.


All that time they'd been carrying eyes around, not knowing
what they were for.
It was good to know. It was good, they all agreed, to have that

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