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  1. Landscape, With Darkness and Hare

    There are still some places on this earth
    where, driving into the hills just ten miles
    from the nearest town, if you killed
    the engine and turned off the headlights
    you would find yourself at the bottom
    of a well of darkness. Perhaps it is too late
    or you don’t realize I hadn’t planned
    on coming this far down the road,
    but here we are. We could have taken
    the other exit, the one littered with rest
    stops, vending machines dispensing packets
    of sugared goods all day and night, glass
    vaults offering the sliver of a chance to lift
    a cheap stuffed animal out of the felted pile–
    But whether or not you really meant to sign
    on for this ride, we’re too far inland now.
    Cell phone signals come through only
    intermittently, and on this stretch the houses
    are three or four miles apart. Who’ll break
    the silence first? Back there, I saw a painted shingle
    that said to watch for deer crossing. Even in this
    desolation, so many signs of life, as though they
    didn’t require our noticing. If we sat here
    through the last icy hours of night, we might see
    at first light, juncos on the icy snow between
    the cattails. Or Durer’s young hare, soft brown
    in watercolor and gouache, still for a moment
    before disappearing in the grass.
    With all my heart oh how I wish he
    would take all the darkness with him.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    01 20 2011


  2. Revised version, this–
    Thanks, Dave.

    * * *

    Landscape, With Darkness and Hare

    There are still some places on this earth
    where, driving into the hills just ten miles
    from the nearest town, if you killed
    the engine and turned off the headlights
    you would find yourself at the bottom
    of a well of darkness. Perhaps it is too late
    or you don’t realize I hadn’t planned
    on coming this far down the road,
    but here we are. We could have taken
    the other exit, the one littered with rest
    stops, vending machines dispensing packets
    of sugared goods all day and night, glass
    vaults offering the sliver of a chance to lift
    a cheap stuffed animal out of the felted pile–
    But whether or not you really meant to sign
    on for this ride, we’re too far inland now.
    Cell phone signals come through only
    intermittently, and on this stretch the houses
    are three or four miles apart. Who’ll break
    the silence first? Back there, I saw a painted shingle
    that said to watch for deer crossing. Even in this
    desolation, so many signs of life, as though they
    didn’t require our noticing. If we sat here
    through the last icy hours of night, we might see
    at first light, juncos on the snow between
    the cattails. Or Durer’s young hare, soft brown
    in watercolor and gouache, still for a moment
    before disappearing in the grass.
    With all my heart oh how I wish he
    would take all the darkness with him.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    01 20 2011



  4. A LULLABY AT SUNDOWN

    At sundown, on my hammock hour, I hum a lullaby.
    And I become the magus among the cattails chanting:

    O give me a home bursting with laughter and song,
    O give me a nook to hide and hold quicksilver dreams.

    In their crannies, I shall wrap them with sunflowers;
    In icy snow chambers, I shall save slivers of sunlight
    To keep them warm. I shall be the rabbit popped out
    Of the magus’ cone hat, I shall jump and disappear

    In their hideaway taking the darkness with me.
    In their lairs and treehouses, I shall bring dry flint
    And candlesticks and all things bright and crackling;
    I shall be with my wee ones and darkness be damned.

    — ALBERT B. CASUGA
    Mississauga, 1-20-11

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