Nothing
I have mastered the art
of going deep
into the wilderness
and discovering
nothing.
I don’t mean
the nothing
the masters labored at.
Damsel Fly
I lose the trail
and trample
a few columbines
that would have lasted
a few more days,
perhaps long enough
to let a damsel fly
sip from their bowls.
A Wrinkle
Nothing between
a lily that lives
a few days
and a pine
that lasted
a thousand years
and fell from
the ravine today,
nothing,
or a wrinkle
in a roll of silk
provisioned away
in the emperor’s
storehouse,
never to be used.
About the author
Peter Waldor's Poetry has appeared in the American Poetry Review, The Colorado Review, The Iowa Review and Mothering Magazine, among others. Over the years,…
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Issue 06 · August 2009
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Poetry
- Postcard Prose
- The History of Western Medicine by Lee Goodman
- Education by Pallavi Sharma Dixit
- Getting Rich by Deborah Diemont
- Greetings from Fredrick by Fredrick Zydek
- Travel Notes
More from The Journal
- Visual Poetry
- Visual Poetry
By Zachary Gambrill
black ink on paper
- Visual Poetry
By Zachary Gambrill
comic book cover
- Postcard Prose
By Lauren Barbato
I’d been thinking about leaving. I’d been thinking how there’s something about out here. Before long it’s a new January and you’re hungover with a heartache for a man you won’t see for several years until he pops up on that very popular, critically-acclaimed sitcom with that actress you learned to like, then hate, then feign indifference abou
- Poetry
The leak in your breathing/
tube makes a cartoon squeak./
It takes two nurses, silent/
as nuns, to place you/
in my arms...
- Poetry
If I have already/
gone insane/
but I want to get/
crazier yet,/
what’s my move?/
Go outsane?
See more
Poetry,
Visual Poetry,
or Postcard Prose
