Fire Pond by Jessica Garratt

By Jessica Garratt

The Agha Shahid Ali Prize in Poetry used to be inaugurated in 2003 to honor the past due poet, a nationally well-known author and previous professor on the college of Utah, and is backed through the collage of Utah Press and the college of Utah division of English. fireplace Pond is the 2008 prizewinning quantity chosen by way of this year’s pass judgement on, Medbh McGuckian, poet, editor, and instructor from Belfast.

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Sample text

Or other times, I wait for what will change: the shade redrawn, the light put out. But sometimes—now—with you, up late, I forget to think—don’t want what might be real, but you, in front of me—beside, on top, below… And when you shook and groaned I held you like an animal that’s tied and needs my help escaping rope and bone, the grip of flesh. I held you while you died and hoped when you awoke, we’d smile, confide. { 40 } VII People are leaving every other day it seems. No. Not leaving. Leaving me.

And, at first, as just after a dream, it wasn’t clear which was me—the one who ran, a cry dislodged like red magician’s silk from her throat, or the one who continued to trace with her steps the simple intention of the fence, economical inside her life. It wasn’t clear who was who until one let go—the way a child lets go of balloon after balloon, across years, and only with practice is able to watch that bright shape float away and not feel herself go with it. { 32 } s╃II. Fire Pond (Peterborough, NH) I Lately, there’s never not a reason good enough to call; though, come on, you—you know you’re treading serious ground, the minutes low on your cell phone.

In the dorm, light was different. It fell from every direction at once, sopping up the dark completely, uniformly, as if the future had sat down upon us—bleak, durable, sordidly aloof—and I had no idea how to get out from under it, or act like myself beneath it. So I spent long afternoons in the library that felt permanent, the sunken hours till dinner sewn tightly into the blank fields outside by the pulse of quiet glances over the tops of books—books in which I recognized smudged shapes that had roughed the surface of my heart for years, encased now in the elegance of form.

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Fire Pond by Jessica Garratt
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