Tennessee: We are here, between trees,
with the tempo of a rosary being strung
in a queue of escalating beads—
Carolina: It’s not quite the count in
the countinghouse of my chest
but the heart does make an awful attempt
T: and a circle wherever it may be
there was music coming on
C: which though machinery-like
moves not in cogs, and never
springs, but waves through
T: like wired applause for antic backstage
buds on the pre-comeuppance buzz; but it
fades
C: but only after the chorus has pulsed
T: it drops off with sudden decision, like fountain
water gone dross
C: or it reaches the furthest point
the branch turns from us, and is for some arc
fully quiet…
T: until the roulette snaps its jaw and the choir’s
circuit opens to one
C: like a pigeon unhinged, its wings
in sudden white-rumped ascent
T: unopposed by iridescence
C: unopposed by iridescence
Farnoosh Fathi is from California and currently lives and works in Carmel Valley. Her poems, translations, interviews and collaborations can be found through the web.
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