Winter 2006-7

Lenore Weiss


Man, woman, and infant sit on a cliff with their backs
to stone statues. They pray for good luck
to enter through the wind, to hear

a yes spoken beneath the toromiro tree,
the last one standing since the giant palm
was tricked into falling all over itself.

He tells a story of how birds drop seeds,
and trees push back. The man begins to work.
She fastens the infant to her breast.

Frigates and storm petrels
serve melting sun to melting water.

The infant sucks.
The birds fly away.
Nothing enters through the wind.
The stone statues turn into more than stone.

Lenore Weiss lives in Oakland, CA, the daughter of Hungarian-American immigrants. Originally from the South Bronx, she is a child of cities. Lenore has published three chapbooks, and is working on a new project entitled, "The CellPhone Poems," which will be performed to music.



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