Wavering

Abstract

Wavering J. D. McClatchy (bio) Continents of cloud sweep acrossThe free-falling sun, their edges uplitLike coastlines seen at night by satellite,Slowly turning a spoiled apricot,shade of a date palm's tangled ovaries. An old iguana and I are standing atop—Its hooded amber eye on the distance we keep—The seawall dry heaves of bilge are slappingAgainst. I look down at myself waveringIn the iridescent slick, white flames Flickering around a head of indistinctLusters, lips engorged but unable to open,Seeming to struggle with what you would thinkMust be unspeakable, some bit of heartbaitUncertain of its victim, cheeks smeared With a livid, pulsing lie. I close my eyesAnd think. What was it I had been looking for?A choice, or the assurance that there is one still?But who stares back now slowly drifts awayOn a sigh of water. Only my regret remains. It's washed up here, with a world of blurryFortunes. How self-contained the pastSeemed, the tiny tin globe you unscrewed to findTwo mazes meant for marbles to make their wayThrough—one going hither, one going yon. All the defeated young men, scummed overWith the flashes of success, broken reeds and wrappers,Float one last scheme, not really thinkingIt will work but ready to sign everything over.They watch themselves trembling in a drop of ink. [End Page 163] J. D. McClatchy J. D. MCCLATCHY has written eight books of poetry, most recently Plundered Hearts: New and Selected Poems (Knopf, 2014), four collections of prose, including Sweet Theft: A Poet's Commonplace Book (Counterpoint, 2016), and edited dozens of books. He has also written seventeen libretti performed at opera houses around the world. He teaches at Yale, where he serves as editor of The Yale Review. Copyright © 2017 J. D. McClatchy