Three Poems by Miriam Kotzin

 

Negative Capability in Glenwood Springs

1.

The latitude says they
can't be orange trees.
Still, they're improbable.

Who would expect
apricots to grow wild
near these river banks?

Immodest fruit
puts itself forward,
bright against dark

static green leaves—
the Unicorn Tapestry
reimagined in Colorado.

 

2.

The sun strikes the flint
surface of  Roaring Fork
with blinding certainty.

Water rushes over rocks
(rote admonitions and
insensible warnings).

What is the smell of
a mountain river troubled
by distant rains? Perhaps

the remembered taste
of  your own blood, sucked
from a fresh-cut finger.

 

3.

Maybe because it was
something to do or so
I could say that I'd gone,

I walked up the hill like
the other tourists,
a sweet hour on the lam.

Doc Holliday's somewhere
in Linwood—maybe.
I arrived empty-handed.

I found flowers, smokes,
whiskey, cards, cash—what's left
when the party's raided.

 

 

Lists

From the sun-bearing sea,
restless, issues its complaint.

Nothing specific, you understand,
but a general kvetch about

this and that: the burden of sun,
moon, all those boats, and,

of course, the fish, intrusive,
making themselves quite at home.

Ridiculous, you say, with a flourish
of your hand.  Well then, no wonder

I smile and say, "Fine, fine. Never
better," when you ask how I'm doing.

I dare say nothing that matters: all
night the windows like tambourines,

the long white envelope I will not open,
the willow branches dripping with rain.

 

 

Preposition

We are always
under

and never above
whatever

it may be.
Not

weather alone, but
scrutiny

(when you keep
it

under your hat),
and

you, for example,
kept

me under your
thumb,

but now I
am

finally so over
you.