Convalescence

Eric Pankey

Though subdued, my fever remained.
Snow had closed the interstate.
I had time to delineate my boredoms,
To inspect my thoughts. My mother lifted
The cast-iron skillet with two hands,
Drained bacon fat into a tin can.
How easily the morning tired, aged into evening.
The fever stayed on like a pilot light.
Sleep, a useless pursuit, so easily achieved.
Sleep heavy, the weight and depth of lake ice.
Submerged, I practiced breathing underwater.

Feature Date

Series

Selected By

Share This Poem

Share on facebook
Share on twitter
Share on email

Print This Poem

Share on print

Eric Pankey is the author of thirteen books of poetry, most recently Augury (Milkweed Editions, 2017). His new collection, The Owl of Minerva, is forthcoming from Milkweed Editions in 2018. He is a professor of English and the Heritage Chair in Writing at George Mason University.

Southern Poetry Review

Issue 55, Number 2

Savannah, Georgia

Editor: James Smith
Associate Editor: Tony Morris

Southern Poetry Review is the second oldest poetry journal in the region, with its origins in Florida and subsequent moves to North Carolina and now Georgia. Continuing the tradition of editorial openness and response to writers that began with Guy Owen in 1958, SPR publishes poems from all over the country as well as from abroad and maintains a worldwide readership. Past issues feature work from Chana Bloch, Billy Collins, Alice Friman, David Hernandez, Andrew Hudgins, Maxine Kumin, Heather McHugh, Sue William Silverman, R. T. Smith, Eric Trethewey, and Cecilia Woloch.

Keep Poetry Alive

We depend more than ever on individual contributions to keep us in service to you and to poetry from year to year. Your support is crucial to our continuing.