In transit tonight, I did a quick search for a final BAP blog poem.
Got myself over to Octopus and browsed around.
Found this little one by Ada Limon. My first impulse was to associate it with "The Anecdote of the Jar"--there's a similar parable-like timbre and self-reflexiveness. Hmmm. I like saying "the holler."
Thanks for the fun, BAP blog!
THE HOLLER
In this particular holler, the cherry trees
weave over the river's fountain, full bloom.
A swallow seems to dive into the sky, a crown
of blossoms on its birdly head, a razor beak,
cutting into the soft world. At this holler, there
is a silent longing. The boy from across the highway
comes. He fishes for a long time, hoping not to
catch a fish, hoping not to grow much older.
He sees the swallow, it is a lovely flittering thing.
He'd like to catch it and hold it down, to feel
his own heart beat faster as he watches her
swallow body try to burst from this beauty
and into a fire, into the world he doesn't believe
exists, but prays it looks like this particular holler.
