September 9
It’s turneresque in twilight. The word comes at me
with its headlights on, so it’s revelation and not death.
I figure I’m halfway home though I’ve only started.
Nothing is moving but me: I’m a blackbird. The neigh-
bor’s in labor, but so am I, pushing against the road.
Physics tells us nothing is lost, but I’ve been copping
time from death and can’t relent for every job the stars
drop on my back.
Elizabeth Willis, "September 9" from Turneresque. Copyright © 2003 by Elizabeth Willis. Reprinted by permission of Burning Deck Press.
Source:
Alive: New and Selected Poems
(New York Review Books, 2015)
