The bridle


“Where is your little light in great darkness”

Go back like a dog to where you put it,
dig up joyfully the crocus first,
the shabby potato:

Run, shaggy eunuch, thru the grass,
the nation: each as you reach it is gone.

Thread the familiar,
the green
adder thru the eye
of the quiet places,
call out to the old street,
to your childhood
robbed of its bridle:

it will cross
the Columbia to cross the Rhine
will level the hills

to reach you: crying, stumbling, singing
I saw London, I saw France

Little gods,
children who invent their lewdness
out of nothing
Little saplings
that out of fire invent a flame

Timmy Straw is a writer, musician and translator (Russian) and a recent graduate of the Iowa Writers' Workshop. Their poems appear in the Chicago Review, Poem-a-Day, Second Factory, The Volta and elsewhere, and their first book is forthcoming from Fonograf Editions.