susan briante
*
Solstice
So the jet stream carries nickel light and narrow births.
Ink slows in your pen. Do not breathe too deeply.
Gravel shifts from the east to the west side of the street.
Cars park at the edge of a vacancy.
Nothing bleeds deeper than traffic lights.
Walking south on Bedford, he takes milk from a carton in sips.
No—I said— he slips a cigarette from the pack to his lips.
Lie down for me. This is no time for resurrections.
*
Susan Briante’s poems have appeared in Court Green, Damn the Caesars and Mandorla. Her first full-length collection of poetry, Pioneers in the Study of Motion, was recently published by Ahsahta Press. Briante teaches at the University of Texas at Dallas, where she lives with the poet Farid Matuk.
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