Poetry: Joseph Lease

Stay


                                                                                                                when I

                                                                                        squeeze your hand I’m squeezing her

                                                                                        hand—his mother

                                                                                                          in the room—his

                                                                                                mother’s me—



                                                                                                He’s dying—

                                                                                                        He’s dying—

                                                                                                He’s asking

                                                                                                        Why

                                                                                                I

                                                                                                        Love

                                                                                                Him—



                                                                                                                when I

                                                                                        squeeze your hand I’m squeezing her

                                                                                        hand—the whiskey on

                                                                                                        the table, the

                                                                                                        rabbits in the

                                                                                                        yard

                                                                                                at night—



                                                                                        “even on mornings when I don’t see

                                                                                        you I’ll see you”—you will go, I will

                                                                                        follow, I will stop, you are with me,

                                                                                        you are with me—and there he was,

                                                                                        throwing his face at his grave—



                                                                                                property is death: they had a body crammed in

                                                                                                a mailbox and it was just a blue suit with bones

                                                                                                      sticking out:



                                                                                                your

                                                                                                        stain of

                                                                                                faded

                                                                                                        storm

                                                                                                light in

                                                                                                        my mouth:



                                                                                        the face in the house—your lips slip the

                                                                                        night—your face slips your eyes—your eyes

                                                                                        slip your yes—love like flying—



                                                                                                                            my father

                                                                                                rain

                                                                                                becoming

                                                                                                                                  rain

                                                                                                rain

                                                                                                becoming

                                                                                                                                  rain



                                                                                                He’s dying—

                                                                                                        He’s dying—

                                                                                                He’s asking

                                                                                                        Why

                                                                                                I

                                                                                                        Love

                                                                                                Him—












11054436_738553682926706_2426227855613568712_nJoseph Lease’s critically acclaimed books of poetry include Testify (Coffee House Press, 2011) and Broken World (Coffee House Press, 2007). Lease’s poems “‘Broken World’ (For James Assatly)” and “Send My Roots Rain” were anthologized in Postmodern American Poetry: A Norton Anthology (Norton). “‘Broken World’ (For James Assatly)” was also anthologized in The Best American Poetry (Scribner). The Academy of American Poets anthologized Lease’s poem “True Faith” on poets.org, and e-mailed the poem to 70,000 subscribers. Lease’s poem “Free Again (Why don’t people)” was published in The New York Times. Lease has received The Academy of American Poets Prize and grants and awards in poetry and poetics from Columbia University, Harvard University, Brown University, and California College of the Arts. He is a Professor of Writing and Literature at California College of the Arts and a member of the Advisory Board of the Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics.