To Remain Lost
The old roads are not of the body.
The fish swarm the surface.
Plants find their own suns.
Inside each reed a glass lining
we’d plant in the wading pool
for the museum to police itself.
If you know the right people
you can photograph the moment
bodies of water come together.
We hold things with partial fists
shoes on the windowsill,
slow safari of furniture.
A bruise, a tomato, a running from.
Weren’t you under the bar,
a smile on the counter?
Weren’t you a car full of balloons?
The brain is a long walk.
It’s morning. Or afternoon
after a shower. Flowers moor
in large oval spaces. Later
the elevator cage, accordion
door. There’s enormous darkness
outside the apartment tonight.
I need to start cooking potatoes.
The plants neatly balconies.
The chefs and waitstaff open
and then close the restaurants
across the way. Smoke breaks
together. From this far.
The sidewalk tables are ruins
that we walk through, eager.
It has always been like this.
A sear with a varnish of butter
and fresh pepper. A swallow
of wine. A swallow.
Copyright © 2018 by Daniel Coudriet
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission
Daniel Coudriet lives with his wife and son in Richmond, Virginia, and in Carcarañá, Argentina. He is the author of Say Sand (Carnegie Mellon) and a chapbook, Parade (Blue Hour Press). His translation of Argentinean poet Lila Zemborain’s Rasgado was awarded an NEA Fellowship, and his poems and translations have appeared in Colorado Review, Denver Quarterly, Green Mountains Review, jubilat, Oversound, Prelude, Transom, and elsewhere.
Bard College’s literary journal Conjunctions publishes innovative fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction by emerging voices and contemporary masters. For over three decades, Conjunctions has challenged accepted forms and styles, with equal emphasis on groundbreaking experimentation and rigorous quality. We are committed to launching and supporting the careers of unknown authors—William T. Vollmann, David Foster Wallace, and Karen Russell all had some of their very first publications in Conjunctions—while providing a space for better-known voices like Joyce Carol Oates or William H. Gass to work outside audience expectations.
The free weekly online journal showcases the work of a single writer each week. It gives us a place to publish the exceptional work that doesn’t fit into the theme of a given anthology, to feature high-quality visual elements, and to delve into the exciting new field of e-writing. Our website also features a multimedia vault of recorded readings, unavailable elsewhere; as well as full-text selections from the anthologies, and a constantly updated table of contents for the issue we’re putting together.