Tolu Agbelusi
each night a diluted memory
infiltrates my dreams—you catapult
me to heaven
on the slat of a swing, shine
my wrists with oil from the oranges
in mum’s garden
from the journal
wildness
What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems.
In our current series, Object Lessons, we’re thinking about the relationship between the experienced and imagined world. We have asked our editors and invited poets to present one of their own poems in combination with the object that inspired it, and to meditate on the magical journey from object to poem.
- September 29, 2020
James Richardson
It’s not so common, in this practical century,
for lovers to pine away, and as our climate warms,
pines are retreating higher, but late as it is,
anyone sleepless will hear the sound of the wind
thinning through pines as pained.
- September 28, 2020
Heather Green
In the sculpture, Aeneas wore a helmet, held
his son’s hand, and carried his thin father,
weathered and wild-eyed, but alive. My father
was bearded and wild-eyed before he died.
- September 27, 2020
Jose Hernandez Diaz
Sometimes I wish my Spanish were better,
Like to the point where I could speak it without
Having to think about it. I can get by, trust me,
But it’s broken. Like that trendy restaurant downtown:
Broken Spanish.
- September 26, 2020
Rose McLarney
How long I watched,
how I loved
to watch, and how I tried
to make him a little home.
But what is wanted wants
to leg it elsewhere, no matter.
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