National Poetry Month, Day 20: “Not light’s version” by Michael Klein

By

Not light’s version

A child from the past:

We always knew the world

would crack open like this, in our lifetime.

The walls, the fences, the resembling

governments looking past faces into the fire

of maps on the long table. Forest sounds.

A gun. A chemical. A bomb.

Something leaking light. Then, not light.

Then, not light’s version of everything.

Then, that, after it touches something.

Michael Klein

Michael Klein is an award-winning poet and author whose poetry collections 1990 and Poets for Life are winners of the Lambda Literary Book Award. He lives in New York City and teaches memoir writing in the summer program at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown.


Original poetry published by The Rumpus. More from this author →