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Henry Rasof
Laurel
Maybe
It’s the way
You soothe or find two words
To my every one. Maybe
It’s the memory
Of darker hair, the
Bicycle seat, earrings. Maybe
It’s racing down
A field, girl
In green on the whitest snow,
Laurel.
Tumbling
We tumble down slopes,
Hugging the icy air, waving
Goodbye to the past,
Kick our shadows,
Watch the snow fall
And fall to our knees.
We have the same
Smooth body,
Smell, the same
Long legs. Together
We whisper I’m yours.
Dinner is spicy hot.
We keep warm after
Telling the whole street:
Surrender to the snow.
Your hat,
One of thousands,
Is pulled over your forehead,
Its band broken
Like the light on the corner:
Always green.
Brilliance in Bed
Quick, quick
A blood-red sunset greets me
In the mirrors of the night
I am looking
For a particular
Kind of voice
Scent of rose
Blush on the cheeks
Intelligence
Just short of Einstein’s
The ability to leap
Tall buildings
With a single bound
A voice with thrills
Like Pavarotti’s
Ups and downs
At will
Songs that are deep
Very deep
A heart expanded
Shaped by
Saw and shrapnel
Mounds of feathery kisses
A whole family
That dances
Brilliance in bed
A ready joke
During massacres
Nails
Like a puma’s
Quick quick
The setting sun
May rise again
©2009 by Henry Rasof
Henry Rasof has
degrees in music, creative writing, and Jewish studies. He worked in book publishing
for many years, and also has been an oboist and chef. Currently he teaches at the
University of Denver, has facilitated workshops on Jewish-Babylonian demon bowls,
and does creative-writing activities with second- and third-graders.
His poetry has appeared in various magazines, including Beyond Baroque, Black
Box, Gallimaufry, Kansas Quarterly, Monkey Puzzle, and Partisan Review
and is forthcoming in Empty Vessel, In Stereo, Jewish Currents, Numinous,
Pinstripe Fedora, and Poetica.
He was born in Santa Monica, has lived in New York and Boston, and currently
resides in Louisville, Colorado.
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