Poems by Pete McNabb

THE CHOIR

Beyond the lip of day and deeper than
The womb of night –
There is a world
Perforated by innumerable and tiny lights.

He touched the babe of new religion back to life,

Growing like its store of time-lapse videos.
For Thou is Active
Or Thou is in Active, but Thou
Is never absent,
Unlike forever before.

Unanswerable prayer
Too easily met with plurality,

The choir responds with new apocrypha,
And no true section can be found to hold
A pitch or range that will be understood
By anyone who is Actively listening.


FORTUNE TELLER

In my allotment, in my time, my friend
I was inborn

With chance to tell
The meaning of your life.

But as a magpie, I couldn’t
Resist the glittering boughs

Of other, secretless, trees.
I could not stay to say.

And still, I knew.
Better yet, I forgot.

Bereft of all your hope, I made you
A feral mare to run through fields.

And you grudge me for
What is mine to know?

I still accept the chance
To lose.

You should’ve seen the treasure
In the trees to which I flew.

why was the secret of your life
entrusted to no other

the answer is unquestionable


SOLSTICE

The wick not burnt but cut
At both ends in Minneapolis,
Where day-sky and night-sky
Communicate color instead of sun –
Black, white, black –
Like a bride stalked
By Maidenhood, Widowhood:
A comedy
Beginning and ending in one line.