Susanna Mishler
THE AFTERLIFE: IN THE SUMMER HOUSE
A scrap of canvas tacked to the kitchen wall
reads, in Russian and English:
AT THE DARK TIME
PULL OUT THE CORD.A slim arrow points toward
some lost device that shifts now
in a north coast ice pack, or
was crushed and swallowedby a flock of Arctic terns
and migrates from pole to pole in
thousands of fibers radiating through
food chains: the broken stringshanging from closet lights. Lines
that raise half a window blind.
–from Rattle #28, Winter 2007
August 7th, 2008 at 6:10 pm
I liked this poem. When I read it, the word that came to mind was “dispersal.” I felt after reading this poem, I had a whole new appreciation for the word “dispersal.” And it’s not even in the poem itself.
Anybody ever read a poem like that? In which a familiar word, one word that’s not even in the poem, all of a sudden appears to you in a new light.