{"id":2176,"date":"2013-07-03T02:44:55","date_gmt":"2013-07-03T02:44:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=2176"},"modified":"2013-07-03T23:02:55","modified_gmt":"2013-07-03T23:02:55","slug":"john-sibley-williams-july-2013","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/john-sibley-williams-july-2013\/","title":{"rendered":"John Sibley Williams, July 2013"},"content":{"rendered":"

Suburban Myths<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Somewhere there are houses<\/p>\n

with half-collapsed roofs<\/p>\n

like someone learning how to cry<\/p>\n

and broken steps that lead<\/p>\n

nowhere near a door<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and there are lights on<\/p>\n

in these fabled houses<\/p>\n

and mothers stretched raw<\/p>\n

over kettles<\/p>\n

and haunting the windows<\/p>\n

children\u2019s faces<\/p>\n

that look so much like the faces<\/p>\n

of the children hurling stones<\/p>\n

that nobody can be certain<\/p>\n

which direction things shatter<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Waxed In<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Relegated to the tiny wooden bow<\/p>\n

of a glassed-in ship<\/p>\n

that once knew blue.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Words are what remain<\/p>\n

when wild expanse<\/p>\n

turns inward, calms.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Collectors say the past<\/p>\n

can be painted any color<\/p>\n

but the real.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Our vessel is one<\/p>\n

dusty inch of shelf<\/p>\n

above a burning hearth.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Has it always been like this?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Life accessed through a bottleneck<\/p>\n

to reveal a universe of unkindled matchsticks<\/p>\n

carefully constructed of glue and where the heart’s been.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Nostalgia<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am what is missing<\/p>\n

from yesterday\u2019s photograph.<\/p>\n

You can clearly make out<\/p>\n

blue swimming trunks<\/p>\n

concealing what once were legs.<\/p>\n

You can tell there should be arms<\/p>\n

to keep her from falling.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Behind: an ocean<\/p>\n

folding and breaking.<\/p>\n

The sun: leaving its mark<\/p>\n

on the absence of a body.<\/p>\n

Everywhere: a pit, so like love,<\/p>\n

rimmed in faltering light.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This is what remains<\/p>\n

of that summer by the sea:<\/p>\n

her figure forever leaning into open air<\/p>\n

and the sand wearing my ghost<\/p>\n

like a broken window.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One Third<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Always stretching toward completion,<\/p>\n

this fractional body<\/p>\n

continues beyond its simple sequence,<\/p>\n

beyond repeating digits and molecules,<\/p>\n

bone and evening.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Well into morning<\/p>\n

where things begin again<\/p>\n

to hope for night,<\/p>\n

I move<\/p>\n

by simply drawing breath.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Across my infinity<\/p>\n

of trailing integers.<\/p>\n

Against the fa\u00e7ade<\/p>\n

of whole and part.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To enter the world like this,<\/p>\n

inked by permanence\u2014<\/p>\n

an undefined number on a page<\/p>\n

in this book that\u2019s only skin.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An Empty Flagpole<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You are a wind<\/p>\n

choked by people,<\/p>\n

entering a dangerous conversation<\/p>\n

with the fumes people release<\/p>\n

in believing.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Your absence<\/p>\n

is a body<\/p>\n

caged by voices<\/p>\n

arguing over your song\u2014<\/p>\n

colliding, collapsing<\/p>\n

your corners into triangles<\/p>\n

for others to lament<\/p>\n

in passing,<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

and I\u2019m thinking of a letter<\/p>\n

sent stampless and empty<\/p>\n

endlessly handed down<\/p>\n

from city to city,<\/p>\n

how it finds its place<\/p>\n

eventually<\/p>\n

like us all<\/p>\n

in the circular current<\/p>\n

of a wind<\/p>\n

choked to death<\/p>\n

by people<\/p>\n

and song,<\/p>\n

the scarred outline<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

of meaning.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

John Sibley Williams is the author of\u00a0Controlled Hallucinations\u00a0(FutureCycle Press, 2013) and six poetry chapbooks. He is the winner of the HEART Poetry Award, and finalist for the Pushcart, Rumi, and The Pinch Poetry Prizes. John serves as editor of\u00a0The Inflectionist Review, co-director of the Walt Whitman 150 project, and Marketing Director of Inkwater Press. A few previous publishing credits include:\u00a0Third Coast,\u00a0Inkwell, Cider Press Review, Bryant Literary Review, Cream City Review, The Chaffin Journal, The Evansville Review, RHINO,\u00a0and various anthologies. He lives in Portland, Oregon.<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Suburban Myths   Somewhere there are houses with half-collapsed roofs like someone learning how to cry and broken steps that lead nowhere near a door   and there are lights on in these fabled houses and mothers stretched raw over kettles and haunting the windows children\u2019s faces that look so much like the faces of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2176","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJohn Sibley Williams, July 2013 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/john-sibley-williams-july-2013\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"John Sibley Williams, July 2013 - 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