Two poems by Rebecca Foust


to the slow, savage seep
of earthly beauty, cricket
cadence swelling soft dusk,
rain-stick stutter of seeds
incanting a monsoon memory,
its long, slow surge.

Wade waist-deep into a lake
in equal parts wet and white
moonlight. Meaning: the light
comes from neither water
nor moon, but reflects
a reflection. Unbolted satin
shimmers pale furlongs,
less sui generis than the idea
of itself; homage to homage,
song to mirage, to mist recalling
its past as water brimming
a great, ancient ocean,

the mystery of Fibonacci’s
crystalline series, of diatoms
fletched and fluted
like snowflakes, of one
pale, pink, whiskered fish.

A Question

Was pleasure
ever given
more succulent flesh
than in this first bite
of sun-ripened tomato,
Brandywine, Cherokee
or yellow cherry, picked
warm from the vine
in a garden that smells of
the earth’s own wine cellar
—sweet mulch, sorrel
and sunlight
churned by the bees
into curds of thick,
thyme-scented honey?

About the author

Rebecca Foust’s recent poetry appears widely in journals including Hudson Review, Margie, North American Review, and Spoon River Review. These poems will appear in…

Read the full bio

Issue 10 · September 2010

Table of contents