Poems by Andrew Najberg
Archives: by Issue | by Author Name
Accusation
by Andrew Najberg
Andrew lives among the Appalachian foothills near Wolftever Creek on the outskirts of the Tennessee River Valley.
You’re tired of ‘both sides’ talk,
that both sides of the fence
wear the sun the same,
tired of stones tumbling
from mouths like punched teeth
labelled with names
of next month’s name calling,
of asking how many fingers
can be sewn pointing
from their palms to keep them
from tracing up their wrists,
of watching their red-
faced slow-boil at other
Other other other,
while in the real world
bleach reefs harden
and fish starving starves
the bigger fish
and the world nails up
welcome signs
to the New South American
Savannah
and the Arctic Plains
Beachfront property
in the sun in the pipe
as the whole world
shrivels like a grape
too long on the vine
being worn down
by dust blown in hot
winds,
oven temps that press
the A/C so hard
the whole grid fails,
and it’s us against
the wounded world
which we’ve only begun
to hear snarl.
© Andrew Najberg
How we keep tending
by Andrew Najberg
We jingled the lock at the gates of plenty,
chains wrapped ‘round the posts
patted for keys at all our pockets.
Behind us, the land of crows and locusts,
scoured fields tilled in rows of rust.
Beyond the fence slats, scattered
critters skitter among brush, nosing worm
burrows and ant hills. There, we whispered,
ones we still eat.
On one horizon, trees gnarl arthritic hands
and supplicate for rain. On the other,
smokestacks and scarecrows bask.
As jackals call twilight, it’s time to shake
the gates. Our children turn to face the setting sun
but do not say about what they cry,
rattle cold hardeness as they blow kisses
at the moon and prayers to the sky.
They don’t know to listen
to our rattling breath and greying hair,
don’t know it’s more than
a long walk back to the fire
© Andrew Najberg