Upon Returning from a Long Life Away

Sam Kerbel

There are some minds made for gentle beauty

Not wrong, no, but not divine 

Gently folded Egyptian sheets

Bellies unspooling wild canyons 

You dig around and wrestle up 

Wine-stained parchment from Herod’s tub

The rude irregularity stature gives cannot

Be possessed and all this sunshine

Makes us dark and drowsy 

On the bright side we’ve traveled the world yet remain

Still very much the same

Our quiet meditations and somber fury will be melted

And melded into a new sun

You may not realize but your eyes change color 

When a new voice chimes in

So we are less shade than shape and what’s

Missing is the right trick of light

Then might we discern the subtleties

Of golden oranges strummed from their branches

When vengeance might succumb to sadness 

And grief, once lit, will take its place 

Until then there will be tribes and we

Will not be visited

Your elm-stained tears drip unclothed 

As swollen cows seethe and obscure

An angel’s flawless flight so green so wide

One might mistake this sea for an eden

Our endless dying for the fruit of life

Truth be told there is noble serenity 

In not doing much of anything 

There are ways, paths far less fast which know

The names of things 

But then again why be burdened 

With seeing more than we naturally see?

We can watch the storm gather where the birds

Just were, we’ll lie in the gardens twirling

Sacred chants from outstretched throats 

Blooming skyward as the blade of heaven descends

To consecrate our affections

As you fall asleep your breath sidles in 

Beside me thin and smooth enough to eddy

Round the mouth of a needle 

The pillow you rest on is calmer than 

Your head which furrows and wings out 

Bodiless as an empty gown

So the drifting planets scrubbing our stones 

And trees for palpable signs of life 

Will disclose your budding intent 

In the silhouette of evening

Limpid and starry as a twice-shined cannon

I assure you there is nothing to do

Nothing to do but wait 

We are but very polished animals

Sultry in our ancient slop

Somewhere along this path 

Of civilization it seems our honey 

Was extracted and the sweetness

Of our voice lost its wood

What is left but to stay? 

We have moved too long, our ankles 

Slink, our toes have grown tedious

It is summer and the terrace is bloodied

With sunshine. This is our month of slouch

Time to fatten our ears with birdsong

Dreams of a better life

Your knees curve the way of the paper umbrella

In my dragonfruit juice. I pour some down the cleft

Of your neck while you read a magazine by the pool

Paradise makes it hard to fathom anything 

Without even a word

And who would pass up such a gift, a gift 

Like this, of never needing be revealed?

Sam Kerbel estuvo en la lista corta para el Certamen de Poesía de Oxford 2024. Su primer libro corto de poesía, Can't Beat The Price (2025), está disponible en Bottlecap Press. Su poesía ha sido publicada o será publicada en Anthropocene, Lana Turner, La Piccioletta Barca, Pamenar Magazine y South Florida Journal, entre otros.

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