This poem is taken from PN Review 196, Volume 37 Number 2, November - December 2010.
At South Elmham Minister
Talk to mother. Speak in a natural
easy voice, cruising the words. Cirrus and
thistles. Thiskin. Largesse. Debonair. Then
oaks and hornbeams and forever. Say that
oaks and hornbeams have been here forever,
in place, in motion, so what is it could
make us jealous? They strew largesse, each bit
of trash confirmed on its shadow. The clouds
...
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