Sunday, March 17, 2019

Brian Beatty On C.D. Wright

Borrowed Trouble: Micro Tribute to C.D. Wright (1949-2016)

I wouldn’t write at all if it weren’t for myriad writers before me whose works showed me what was possible. The poems of this series are small offerings of respect, of thanks, to those muses. – Brian Beatty

C.D. Wright

The cracked plaster ceiling
flickers like the first few scenes  

of a family’s home movie
in which everyone appears

to be wearing some sort of costume.
It must have been Halloween.

The grandson practices shadow puppets
by the dim glow of a nightlight.

The room’s windows are thrown open
because it’s always summer in Arkansas.

What the boy considers a dog
more closely resembles a dinosaur.

– Brian Beatty

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Brian's most recent collections of poetry are Dust and Stars: Miniatures and Brazil, Indiana. Don't miss Brian's columns on the great poets: insert your email address in the "Follow By Email" box to the right of this article and you'll be notified every time a new article appears.

1 comment:

  1. I met C.D. Wright once at a march protesting the second Iraq war. She was visiting Minneapolis to give a reading, but said she wouldn't have missed this march for the world. When I expressed my doubts about what difference our few hundred people would make, she explained people weren't marching to make any difference in D.C. Instead, we were marching so we could live with ourselves. In this tribute, I imagined myself entering one of Wright's poems. This series is a game of shadow puppets, really. And I'm writing it so I can live with myself.


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