Flashback Friday featuring Rebecca Foust from issue 294.2

No words.

Rebecca Foust was a finalist in the James Hearst Poetry Prize in 2009. Her poem “The Cormorant” was featured in issue 294.2.

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“The Cormorant”

Satan “flew, and on the Tree of Life . . . sat like a Cormorant;”
—Paradise Lost, Book IV, ll.194-96

The four-chambered heart and wings
somehow transcend his reptilian brain
and come with dusty black feathers

that fray the frock coat of this dour,
penurious parson. An oddly dense
puddle of shadow inking the float,

he does not give deign even one glance
in our direction. We dog-paddle close,
but he waits until we touch wood

to unfold awkward, creaking wing,
splash down on water, upend, dive
and sleek as a snake disappear,

no ripple or wake. We climb up, cold
and late. The sun in decline has turned
the lake red; it’s already starting to burn.


From the author: I wrote this poem…

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Barefoot

Magicstuff

The Transient Photographer

Barefoot Barefoot

Shelter and safety. They make us feel comfortable and secure. We have a lot of comfort and security and shelter here in america. Rarely do we feel truly threatened or at risk. We go places we know are safe and we take part in activities that are completely within the realm of safety. Even when we risk a little it’s a conscious decision with as much safety measures in place as possible. We have so little risk in our lives we have to inject tiny amounts of it via perceptively dangerous recreational activities that are still extremely controlled.

With all this shelter comes, for me at least, a diminished sense of adventure and a disconnection with the experience of life and spontaneity. How can we truly connect with our surroundings if there’s a constant buffer separating us from it? When’s the last time you felt the touch of grass…

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