Ed Adams
Ed Adams holds degrees from Goddard College and Antioch University. He has published poems in numerous literary journals including Barrow Street, Exquisite Corpse, Fence, G. W. Review, Lilies and Cannonballs Review, The Quarterly, in the U.S., Poetry Review, Shearsman in the U.K. His work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, book manuscripts of his work have made finalist for The Walt Whitman Award and for The Brittingham Prize in Poetry. He grew up in Philadelphia and in Rochester, and has lived for a while in New Mexico, in Taos and now in Santa Fe, where his daughter is attending high school.
Aubade
Open door, table, glass of
orange juice, dear hand
her eyes teem and flash:
on the computer.
Tugging a loop
through a slip of cloth
I move around
and behind:
on the screen
the letters are irregular
knot at my throat
looking down on
a cemetery in the snow.
Shrinking I parachute
to the screen
/
Beneath my shoes the letters grow:
oof, and I’m among them
They’re buildings and houses
with windows and doors
there’s activity
Hungry I scheme
find work
my job
is to name the streets
I’ve a quota to fill:
Gray & Yellow Avenue
Awry Drive
I’m summoned:
people want Peach Tree Lane
they want Green Valley Road
I board an airplane:
passengers act like
everything’s routine
there’s tension
I look out the window:
scientific fairytale clouds
from this distance looking down
I can read discouraging sentences
I cover my right eye
with my right hand:
A Z R
L Q
No: O
For shelter I upload
an acceptable list
/
The black crisp air
thrusts an obelisk
in the square
Walking with head down
I notice my index finger
Looking back at the obelisk
I think of a rocket
look up and point:
All the stars are
y i
e l t
e g n s