Volume 14:4, Fall 2013
Prose Poem Issue
After I Xeroxed the Sky
After I xeroxed the sky, I gave copies to those enclosed by the dark. The crew of a Russian submarine asked for dozens, if they could be spared. One went to Henny, bed-ridden for weeks, waiting for broken bones to fuse. The widow down the street asked for threeto cover each mirrors dazed reflection. The dying kept begging for more. The copies seemed less than perfect to my discerning eyesun a cats eye shade of canary, rather than gold, and what was to be the pure blue of heaven seemed a withered shade. Most would not guess that white-out was used for clouds. Only the puriststhose sweet suicidescould tell.
Nancy Naomi Carlson is the recipient of grants from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Maryland Arts Council, and the Arts & Humanities Council of Montgomery County. Author of three prize-winning books of poems and translator of six books from French to English, she is an associate editor for Tupelo Press. Her work has appeared in such journals as The Iowa Review, Poetry, Prairie Schooner and The Southern Review. To read more by this author: Summer 2005 issue