{"id":383,"date":"2012-07-10T02:55:22","date_gmt":"2012-07-10T02:55:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sporkpress.com\/poetry\/?p=383"},"modified":"2012-07-10T02:55:22","modified_gmt":"2012-07-10T02:55:22","slug":"3-poems-by-daniel-j-walsh","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/2012\/07\/10\/3-poems-by-daniel-j-walsh\/","title":{"rendered":"3 Poems by Daniel J Walsh"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><strong>12\/25\/2011<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Of the common dreads, none are named<br \/>\nbut waiting. Even here, under the aegis<\/p>\n<p>of the left-unsaid, that I doubted<br \/>\nyour oath to return, we feel packaged in <\/p>\n<p>by waiting. If a holiday is the practice<br \/>\nof hunger, mine is for what was: the old<\/p>\n<p>unsaddled city, pre-siege and home<br \/>\nto you in your most fathomable. Known <\/p>\n<p>then as nurturer, you were belonged-to.<br \/>\nFrom nowhere and nearly frozen,<\/p>\n<p>the wrong you arrives, a hovering of skin<br \/>\nand bones and barely. An after with a look <\/p>\n<p>of asking. I offer ribbons and my want<br \/>\nfor repair, offer your incense <\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ve been burning without knowing why.<\/p>\n<p>_____________________________________________<\/p>\n<p><strong>Houdini<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>My body is smoke in the shape of a man<br \/>\nand mine only for its vanishing. <\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m more alluring as afterimage,<br \/>\nas Gone, so women want me<\/p>\n<p>to disappear, none of them knowing<br \/>\nI am after what will hold, the handcuff <\/p>\n<p>not charmed loose. All illusions aim<br \/>\nto end escaping and strap me<\/p>\n<p>to what stays. This, a chamber<br \/>\nof metal and mahogany, is my final <\/p>\n<p>sleight. See how the shackles are<br \/>\ndonned, how fluid fills the tank. See <\/p>\n<p>how the locks don\u2019t pop<br \/>\nand what I conjure is constraint.<\/p>\n<p>____________________________________________<\/p>\n<p><strong>Wicker Man<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Allowed a body, I wanted<br \/>\nanother. Not the salt and un-mending <\/p>\n<p>muscle of my own,<br \/>\nbut wicker, boneless and capable<\/p>\n<p>of burning.<br \/>\nAnd they made it for me. I stood inside <\/p>\n<p>and it was fulfilled,<br \/>\nnot needing, not quilled by appetite. <\/p>\n<p>An acolyte<br \/>\nset to flames the wicker frame, and within,<\/p>\n<p>I was a fragrance<br \/>\ngiven off. There were watchers to breathe me<\/p>\n<p>who believed<br \/>\nI could save. I don\u2019t care what it means <\/p>\n<p>to be sacrificed<br \/>\nto fog or feeble gods: this is about me, <\/p>\n<p>how I will abolish<br \/>\nmy form to earn the ever\u2014 an unoffered <\/p>\n<p>option of lasting,<br \/>\ngathered around, grafted to purpose.<\/p>\n<p>__________________________________________________<br \/>\n<strong>Daniel J Walsh<\/strong> is a teaching fellow at Columbia University, where he studied for his MFA in poetry. Prior, he received his BA from Muhlenberg College. He also has work forthcoming in Death Hums.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>12\/25\/2011 Of the common dreads, none are named but waiting. Even here, under the aegis of the left-unsaid, that I doubted your oath to return, we feel packaged in by waiting. If a holiday is the practice of hunger, mine is for what was: the old unsaddled city, pre-siege and home to you in your [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1,2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-383","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized","category-things"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/383","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=383"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/383\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=383"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=383"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thisissporkpress.com\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=383"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}