"Nature 1" by: Jennifer Powers


The sun sneaks through 
the clouds and is trapped
again as the wind sweeps
through the empty fields
and my mind drifts too far
for me to see.
I play 
chess 
and
love
and
war
and give up before I try,
but not before my
seconds in the Sun.

They say a sad life 
makes for good poetry. 
It’s not the life, it’s 
the lies we tell about 
ourselves that make it
good. But that’s crap, too.

Jimmy Carter was the greatest 
poet I’ve ever seen, and 
the lies that live within 
his lifetime won’t matter when
the days sweep through the
orchards of this world
and transcend into Heaven
where he will build palaces
as great as the ones he’s
put here, and serve a
nation greater than all others.

When I die that’s the only 
name the end of my life 
will bear. There will be
no wind, no great transcension;
only the ash under your 
fingernails to be clipped
or scrubbed away.
There will be no wind,
and certainly no tears;
just the sweeped street
and recycled burial plot
where I will lay.
There will be no great transcension, 
no tears, and 
it will definitely not be sad;
just another day,
another chore,
another handshake
as you say ‘how’ve you been,’
and they say ‘I’ve been good’
while you all look sad
when you aren’t sad.
Drop a flower 
and say goodbye.
And then goodnight.