Ada Kulesza
Free Verse for the Upper Peninsula

The flames of leaves blur
and paint their shadows on the asphalt
where the shore beckons beyond the
parting, gentle hills
that shyly bow
to our gritty station wagon.
We taste the damp universe
and boast the wisdom
that gods felt
when they made Michigan.

Ten foot flight
from the edge of the world
to the lake:
icy water cracks a naked heel;
the bliss kisses the body shock.

We paint our rubber black freedom streak
through the upper peninsula
that from the timid
the map conceals.
The sunset clock,
ducking under clouds,
nods farewell to Marquette;
we shall meet again.

Ode to Eastern America

Ode to the gray, deep east, where iron and glass dominions reign,
        Looming over wind-worn modern effigies
Whose capitalist walls the echoes of muted youth contain.
        Self-deprecating and loathing bodies decay,
Meandering with quick desire and the empty fabrication
        Of paltry gratification without delay.
Oblique paths and ardent strides quicken the pace of obligation,
        Omitting fading days of dissent and reformation,
Squandering the hopes of youth in evenly spaced trees
        That litter the cracked valleys of sidewalks on the street.
The city, the site, the place where hopeful feet once fell,
        Its secrets only iron-green faces could tell,
Their epic vision mutely carried by crisp leaves whose paths scattered
        About the bronze repose of progress that once mattered.

<< Back to Issue 8, 2005