WHAT IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN LIKE TO COME OF AGE IN THE SOUTH
The truth, I want to say, is as follows.
But I can’t.
The agon often as not
gentleness and/or humor
to go on
eluding all but the nimblest
whose head now
hangs to one side
like a stem-cut
longing for the earth again.
Where the moons are fuller, the pull of them felt different before.
When what tides there were affected us alone.
A wood—more like a stand of tree-like colorations—the light entirely other than.
West again to the river, a wall there following the river as if according to plan:
each new coordinate east of the one they say is gentlest.
Apt even for offspring.
Nearness be that mark where every bell but one may be broken for awhile.
I swear I can see the square from here--
the pigeons and the wish-filled fountains.
While at work on her first full-length collection, The Certain Body, Julia Guez has received a Master of Fine Arts from Columbia, a Fulbright Fellowship and the 2013 “Discovery”/ Boston Review Poetry Prize. Her poems, essays and translations have appeared or will soon be forthcoming in BOMBLog, Poetry, The Literary Review and No, Dear. Guez works at Teach For America-New York and lives with her family in Greenpoint.