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Ode to Mt. Philo

Scottish Issue, Summer 2017 Cafe Review Cover

by Major Jackson

After avocadocolored inclines, after dawdling ascents
over fern & foliage, after long trillium gazes and careful steppings
over outcrops of rocks which if not careful could
trip to foil, after delicate trail talk of marriages and births,
dates, and quarrels squashed, the tentative pace
of the new inlaw, the surefootedness of the longago loved,
after stopoffs to catch breath, a swig and quaff, to take this much
in, midway up journey, this resting place to further
peaks and crests, after foothold and climb, after storm’s last
sculpture of fallen trees, You, summit of my life, philosophy
of sky, You, embezzler of breaths from big and small mouths,
so that all whisper your spreadout tabernacle, a new religion,
You ritual burst of mountain light and sparkling lake
for which we lineup taking our turns in spawns of clicks
and screens: panorama of foothills like green coats thrown
open, clouds, if only we could reach & cup into our hands,
and below, a stitched patchwork of land: limepastured
like flattened squares of kale. We look. We marvel at how far
we traveled through emerald, glitter, and beam.

Inscription

Scottish Issue, Summer 2017 Cafe Review Cover

by Major Jackson

Five gold wash crystal pearls on a wrist.
Her seraphskin glistening when a spigot is turned off
in the apartment next door, letting out
a rusty squeak. A tabby licks a paw.

An evening dinner of lightning in clouds, the sky’s release
of electrical surplus followed by Porchetta
with wilted greens tossed in Arbequina olive oil and lemon.

Layers of clothes topped by her sinamay straw derby hat.
A thin wisp of sheen above his brow.
Until all at once they voicelessly consume
the echoes of all their past.

Possible objects of high regard: stalactites dripping
in a cave, delicately carved tortoiseshell comb,
cambers of her body.

Sentiment

Scottish Issue, Summer 2017 Cafe Review Cover

by G. H. Smith

What was it, muse, you
so desperately wanted me to say?
You tried everything to no avail.
Even now steeped in wellearned
self pity, I remain
deaf as a black hole.

The answer must lie
in the past some small detail
so insignificant that
it got overlooked.

For both our sakes,
I wish I knew
how to please you
and thus be relieved
of my responsibilities.

What good can come
from heaping further abuse?
Send me love, youth,
The temptation of unattainable dreams.
I promise to be eloquent.

Disambiguation

Scottish Issue, Summer 2017 Cafe Review Cover

by G. H. Smith

The time has come to put away childish things.
You laugh, but when were we ever punctual?
Look, the ferry is engaged
in foreplay with the dock.
In light of all this rain,
the past is bankrupt,

which might be a plus.
I try to see myself in a room
surrounded by sticks of furniture.
That one’s a far cry
from Louis Quatorze;
the ottoman has lost its empire.

I miss above all the dogs,
whose antics drove me to distraction,
the way they’d stub their snouts
against the door, demanding to be let out,
then mere minutes later,
wanting in again.