i’m going back to Minnesota where sadness makes sense

Written by Danez Smith

i stood at its lip, dressed in down, praying for snow.
i know, i’m strange, too much light makes me nervous

at least in this land where the trees always bear green.
i know something that doesn’t die can’t be beautiful.

have you ever stood on a frozen lake, California?
the sun above you, the snow & stalled sea—a field of mirror

all demanding to be the sun, everything around you
is light & it’s gorgeous & if you stay too long it will kill you.

it’s so sad, you know? you’re the only warm thing for miles
the only thing that can’t shine.

COULD THIS BE ME?

 By Charles Simic

NEW YORKER January 10, 2022

An alarm clock
With no hands
Ticking loudly
On the town dump

Modern Haiku

The presence of God.
In the tunnel of birdsong
A locked seal opens.

Death bends over me—
I’m a chess problem, and he
has the solution.

The darkening leaves
in autumn are as precious
as the Dead Sea Scrolls.

A wind vast and slow
from the ocean’s library.
Here’s where I can rest.

The power lines stretched
across the kingdom of frost
north of all music.

- Tomas Tranströmer (1931-2015)

- Translations by Robin Fulton

 Against This Death

By Irving Layton

I have seen respectable

death

served up like bread and wine

in stores and offices,

in club and hostel,

and from the streetcorner

church

that faces

two-ways;

I have seen death

served up

like ice.

Against this death,

slow, certain:

the body,

this burly sun,

the exhalations

of your breath,

your cheeks

rose and lovely,

and the secret

life

of the imagination

scheming freedom

from labour

and stone.