Fiction   Essays   Poetry  The Ten On Baseball Chapbooks In Memory

Matthew Gleckman


Its    A

Half      S

This poem will spend              C

With pitons and ropes,              E

This poem climbs mountains       N

Elevators to the 37th floor,           D

This poem rides in                            I

In hand-me-down clothes,                  N

This poem no longer fits                        G

Marks on the wall,

Above faded pencil

This poem grows

Not always win,

That gravity does

This poem is proof

To the leaf,

Like rain sucked

Back to the brain

Like blood circulating

Way upward

And works its

The big fat toe,

The basement,

In the roots,

This poem starts here

Poem Ascending


Heavy brown bird
trapped indoors
beats itself against
the windowpane
with a dark
rattling thud.

Always, it is what
you cannot see.

©2002 by Matthew Gleckman

Matthew Gleckman has worked as a journalist throughout the western United States. His fiction and poetry have been published in magazines and anthologies including: Telluride Magazine (winner, summer 2000 poetry contest), Continuum, Windfall, and Kota Press. A poem is forthcoming in Dazzling Mica. He is currently living in Issaquah, WA.

Read fiction by Matthew Gleckman also in this issue.

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