Small Words

                                           Homage to Aragon

My heart was beating your voice was silent
Evening closed and doors locked
We sat easy and limp as clothes on a chair
The past surrounded us naked and visible

It was an evening like any evening—subtitles off—
Where memory is automatic memory is the world
It’s well past time to read the papers
And your blood is the only voice you hear

Somewhere outside a garden sobs
Or a small dog pants uneasy sounds
My ear studies the long terms of silence
I listen propped on an elbow and suddenly

You are dreaming




About the Author:
Mark J. Mitchell studied writing at UC Santa Cruz under Raymond Carver, George Hitchcock and Barbara Hull. His work has appeared in various periodicals over the last thirty five years, as well as the anthologies Good Poems, American Places,Hunger Enough, and Line Drives. His chapbook, Three Visitors will be published by Negative Capability Press later this year and his novels, The Magic War and Knight Prisoner will be published in the coming months. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the documentarian and filmmaker Joan Juster. Currently he's seeking gainful employment since poets are born and not paid.