{"id":403,"date":"2018-01-15T23:25:07","date_gmt":"2018-01-15T23:25:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/noellesickels.com\/wp\/?p=403"},"modified":"2018-01-15T23:25:07","modified_gmt":"2018-01-15T23:25:07","slug":"poem-of-the-month-oases-in-the-south-bronx-by-adam-wiedewitsch","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/noellesickels.com\/wp\/?p=403","title":{"rendered":"Poem of the Month: Oases in the South Bronx by Adam Wiedewitsch"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

1<\/span><\/p>\n

Calls to mind the truce on the Serengeti
\n<\/span>the day the rainy season pulls\u00a0back and the star
\n<\/span>reignites the glut of skin plastered-to-the-rib thirst
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

the scorch of lions\u00a0and buffalo, elephant, giraffe
\n<\/span>at the water hole, and, somehow, not a lick
\n<\/span>of blood;
\n<\/span>\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the day-spa\u00a0of starlings
\n<\/span>and sparrows in a fire hydrant puddle
\n<\/span>guttered in a no-parking zone.\u00a0Enraptured <\/span><\/p>\n

they motor their wings\u00a0so fast they rattle\u00a0feral
\n<\/span>cats on a street better known for the pit-
\n<\/span>bulled fences, broken-bottle fences, and fresh meat.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

2<\/span><\/p>\n

In order to translate the surface of the pool
\n<\/span>as the shape of the wind in the opening scene
\n<\/span>of Halloween<\/i>, dry as the omen of cars
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

parked in piles of dead leaves, or the lecture hall
\n<\/span>on the hill as a Giant\u2019s throne, a cold war era
\n<\/span>dinosaur lit up like a billboard; the pool appears <\/span><\/p>\n

to imply: you must first fall for the mural
\nthat appeared one day out of nowhere on the east
\n<\/span>wall of the masjid; the woman in cut-offs
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

cross-legged on a rug with turntable, Tito Puente
\n<\/span>on deck; for the greenhouse, the chicken coop
\n<\/span>and the fanyamas, Rhode Island reds, and silkies<\/span><\/p>\n

3<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span>who could forget the silkies, let them break <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 your heart. More and more, leaves wrinkle<\/span><\/p>\n

the surface: what the hell happened here<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 and more questions, like, do city-birds drone<\/span><\/p>\n

like desert-birds? Questions that snake <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 their way into this oasis: a memory <\/span><\/p>\n

of birds in the pool, a plastic bottle <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 gardened in the empty corner lot, native <\/span><\/p>\n

grass grown wild around a bed\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0of metamorphic rock, a trellis draped in morning <\/span><\/p>\n

glories, a lattice of emerald ribbons<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 the crown of her garden hat, her hunter-<\/span><\/p>\n

green boots, rooted in the dirt beneath her <\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0finger nails, a hive of sparrows<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Adam Wiedewitsch was poetry editor and columnist at\u00a0The Prague Review<\/em>, a founding editor of\u00a0Tongue: A Journal of Writing & Art<\/em>, and contributing member to the Pirogue Collective before giving it up to teach middle school in the south Bronx.\u00a0 His poetry has appeared in\u00a0Azul\u00a0<\/em>(Holland),\u00a0Carapace\u00a0<\/em>(South Africa), and most recently in\u00a0Salamander, Paris Lit Up,\u00a0<\/em>and the anthology\u00a0Inheriting the War\u00a0<\/em>from Norton.\u00a0 He has received fellowships from DAAD in Berlin, the Eva Tas Foundation, The Millay Colony, and The Ledig House International Writers Residency.\u00a0 He lives in New York City.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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