The National Poetry Review
LAST POEM ABOUT THE FARM
The earth paces from alloy to alloy.
The gravel I tread, a side of barn,
the ridge that only locals name—
glisten like something galvanized.
Even the field I stumble through—
minutes ago, it offered soybeans
punctured by witch-grass and touch-me-not;
now it is only a plot of pewter.
Each oval leaf is cast in sand.
Fireflies mete out their bits of pyrite:
the only color here, a flicker that
returns in a window of the house below —
a light in a casket of tarnished plate,
where my mother wheels herself
half-inch by quarter-inch, to bed.
JAMES NAJARIAN’s verse has been published in Borderlands, West Branch, The Cape Rock, Tar River Poetry, Christianity and Literature and other literary journals. He teaches nineteenth-century literature (but not creative writing) at Boston College, where he also edits the scholarly journal Religion and the Arts.