Back to Issue Two.

Trees That Could Be Cut

BY REBECCA KAISER GIBSON

 

Here is a field of slender green.
See, there are two white chairs facing the woods,

metal stained white, patient.
What is waiting under the May cloud?

Only the sunshine and heave of the axis.
I will forget soon this day. I think

the robin there in the grass, only a head taller,
and in the shadow, has always been.

And the apple tree in white spray has always,
will always, and the five birds at the edge

of shadow will gleam. White
sunshine will always. Blowing and swooping, the caw.

And always in the house, tall and steady, making
order. And the roses, always new, shining leaves,

and any aphids blown from them, and the wind
benign. The grasses and the robin swerving. 

 

 

Rebecca Kaiser Gibson has had poetry published in AGNI, The Greensboro Review, FIELD, The Harvard Review, The Boston Phoenix, Mothering, Antigonish, Northwest Review, MARGIE, Pleiades, and Slate, and has had work reprinted in an anthology called Cadence of Hooves. She has published two chapbooks: Admit the Peacock and Inside the Exhibition. She received a 2008 Artist Fellowship in Poetry from the Massachusetts Cultural Council, and has been awarded residencies from the MacDowell Colony and The Heinrich Boll Cottage on Achill Island, Ireland. She teaches poetry at Tufts University and, as a Fulbright Scholar, taught poetry in Hyderabad, India last winter.