{"id":3010,"date":"2017-07-23T19:58:26","date_gmt":"2017-07-23T19:58:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=3010"},"modified":"2017-07-23T19:58:26","modified_gmt":"2017-07-23T19:58:26","slug":"jim-zola-summer-2017","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/jim-zola-summer-2017\/","title":{"rendered":"Jim Zola, Summer 2017"},"content":{"rendered":"

Box of Stars<\/strong><\/p>\n

Truth is that box of stars my kids press
\non the bedroom ceiling. Shine a light
\nand they glow a little in the dark.
\nThen they stop no matter how much light
\nyou give them. They fall one by one.<\/p>\n

My father told a story about how he cut off
\na man\u2019s ear and stuffed it in his pocket.
\nWhen I was seven, the doctors
\nwanted to break both my legs to fix them.
\nThey bowed just like my father\u2019s did.
\nStanding side by side we made an M.
\nMother told the doctors No. She wore<\/p>\n

her anger like a scarf. Father
\ntalked with both hands, grabbing air.
\nI thought if I could see the shapes,
\nI might understand his logarithms
\nof happiness. At eighteen, I ate
\na paper star, saw colors in a lover\u2019s face<\/p>\n

that weren\u2019t there before or after.
\nI walked my dog along the broken notes
\nof railroad tracks, memorized each missing
\nspike, her favorite spots for squatting.
\nI walked in shoes of blood. I walked away
\nfrom love so many times I ended up walking
\nback to it. When my father died,
\nI searched his pockets and found the stars.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

On the Mantel<\/strong><\/p>\n

sits a bud vase with last fall\u2019s flowers
\nso spent no one can name them,
\nand a photograph of a stoic child
\non the dappled back of a horse.
\nBehind boy and horse, faded apartments
\nboast empty flowerpots. It\u2019s the wrong
\nseason for dahlias, for old world herbs \u2013
\nbasilico, salvia. The horse
\npauses from deliveries \u2013 coal or milk.
\nAll you can see is his swayback,
\nthe reins and snaffle bit. The child,
\nbundled in layers and topped with a wool cap,
\nis posed by those out of camera\u2019s reach.
\nHe stares at the photographer
\nwho is trying to make him smile.
\nEighty years, they all are gone \u2013
\ndeliveryman, tired horse, photographer,
\nflowerpots, my father\u2019s sullen glare.
\nThe years have made the photograph brighter,
\nmore colorful. Whites yellowed, blacks are brown.
\nThen I am in the garden. Father pays
\nten cents an hour to pull weeds and pop
\nwhispery seeds from dead heads. My lips
\nare moving, a mantra on bended knees.
\nPortulaca, portulaca. They will return.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook — The One Hundred Bones of Weather<\/em> (Blue Pitcher Press) — and a full length poetry collection — What Glorious Possibilities<\/em> (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Box of Stars Truth is that box of stars my kids press on the bedroom ceiling. Shine a light and they glow a little in the dark. Then they stop no matter how much light you give them. They fall one by one. My father told a story about how he cut off a man\u2019s […]<\/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-3010","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"\nJim Zola, Summer 2017 - 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\/jim-zola-summer-2017\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Jim Zola, Summer 2017 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Box of Stars Truth is that box of stars my kids press on the bedroom ceiling. Shine a light and they glow a little in the dark. 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