Poem: Palatine Hill by Wanda O’Connor

Palatine Hill

 

Find me not in the Pantheon but with the aviaries of
Palatine Hill

&nbsp‘mark yourself foreign’

Remnants of copper wire pierce the earth, my own flesh
and blood leaves me

I’m inflicted
with Caesar’s sensations of fullness1 __(two solitudes: one a secret fault)

a life I could not live
for lack of mapping at the start and rummaging through the middle, peaking at
preoccupations.

&nbspI live in errands, in ends and joints. Shedding,
make that puffing,
as a single sheet hanging
from a wire,

&nbspmore figuring than balancing.

I have a secret river I call Rubicon
&nbspand collect fragments of hoof, nets and stream.

To walk the river is to slip.
To walk the river is to to ache &nbspnostos altos (pain-return).
To walk the river is to whisk surface into the harbor that is body.
To walk the river is to recur.

I hope to find the remnants of a Roman street ____carnelian-cast
an object I can wear around my neck.

Least of all
I want the field
where I stood staring at the voice of my grandmother shouting for a parent as I stroked the workhorse repeatedly.

 

 

 
 
 


1 falling sickness

 
 

From Spring 2016 V51.3 Poetry Wales

COMMENTS

2 Comments

  • Betty

    Beautiful poem! Love it!

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