Joshua Marie Wilkinson is the author of several collections of poetry including Suspension of a Secret in Abandoned Rooms (Pinball), Lug Your Careless Body out of the Careful Dusk (Iowa), A Ghost as King of the Rabbits (New Michigan), The Book of Truants & Projectorlight (Octopus). Forthcoming collections are The Book of Whispering in the Projection Booth (Tupelo), Figures for a Darkroom Voice (with Noah Eli Gordon; Tarpaulin Sky), The Book of Flashlights, Clover, & Milk (Pilot), and A Brief History of Gossip (Dos). He lives in Chicago and teaches at Loyola University. He is co-directing with Solan Jensen, the feature-length documentary entitled Made a Machine by Describing the Landscape (a film about Califone on tour).
from A Moth in the Projectorlight
From the porch my father is pissing
into the dust & dark.
***
Did the movies spoil you early?
Couldn't the river take that man away?
Had you wished for a better entry?
***
The man slumped wide-eyed
dead at the wheel of the milk truck
isn't enough for a poem until
the ground thaws,
the windshield splatters onto the dash,
into his pleated lap & animals catch
the opened scent.
Montana burned fresh. They nuzzle
& tug him lengthwise
like a dummy
into the goat field
& wish him goodbye.
***
Sweaty water, oven belly, brick chin, monster
oarsman, your man square
in the mirror like he's been drinking
the spitty punches.
***
Gin Rummy. Your slick way of saying
alright
like granddad.
***
To have come all the way back by
three buses, night mizzle & a little whatchayacallit
to the funeral. Somebody
mistakes your uncle for
your father at the reception
& it occurs to me that even music
wouldn't do this to us
without first
asking for a dance.
Did the movies spoil you early?
Couldn't the river take that man away?
Had you wished for a better entry?
***
The man slumped wide-eyed
dead at the wheel of the milk truck
isn't enough for a poem until
the ground thaws,
the windshield splatters onto the dash,
into his pleated lap & animals catch
the opened scent.
Montana burned fresh. They nuzzle
& tug him lengthwise
like a dummy
into the goat field
& wish him goodbye.
***
Sweaty water, oven belly, brick chin, monster
oarsman, your man square
in the mirror like he's been drinking
the spitty punches.
***
Gin Rummy. Your slick way of saying
alright
like granddad.
***
To have come all the way back by
three buses, night mizzle & a little whatchayacallit
to the funeral. Somebody
mistakes your uncle for
your father at the reception
& it occurs to me that even music
wouldn't do this to us
without first
asking for a dance.
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