Two Poems by J.R. Solonche

ANNIVERSARY

We talked of what years do to us.

It was a fairly average day.

We made love with old, familiar lust.

We put our daughter on the bus.

We said the things we had to say.

We talked of what years do to us.

We had appointments at the dentist,

for cleaning and for x-ray.

We made love with old, familiar lust.

No one called. No one made a fuss.

The January sky was gray.

We talked of what years do to us.

You returned a nightgown, Christmas

gift too big. It was on the way.

We made love with old, familiar lust.

Did we kiss? I think we did kiss.

But anyway...  So anyway...

We talked of what years do to us

and made love with old, familiar lust.

ISAAC

They woke no earlier than usual,

just dawn, as though it were another day

of tending flocks. At once he saw the way

was different, though, not toward the jagged wall

of date palms, and through it past the rock-fall.

Where were they going then? When would he say?

He looked. His father’s look did not betray

intent or doubt. It was a stern white wall.

He nearly fainted when he saw the knife.

He fainted when he smelled the ram’s fat burn,

the smoke like black wool curling from the stone.

That night he dreamt he was a man with wife

and child. The angel came, stony white, stern,

and his face was flame. He said, Wake your son.

J.R. SOLONCHE is the author of more than 40 books of poetry and co-author of another, nominated for the National Book Award, the Eric Hoffer Book Award, and three times for the Pulitzer Prize. He lives in the Hudson Valley.

Art by Kat Nisbet