Excerpt
I Began Wanting
to say something straight
from the heart, maybe something
about my daughter, or perhaps
it was my lover I wanted to speak
to. It really doesn’t matter, all
that ancient mystery.
The pump is broken, the water not potable,
dangerously high nitrate levels. The postman
drives up the road, delivers mail,
letters full of risky notions, a book
on the rise and fall of capitalism.
The air is clear the way air
will be when sunlight touches a woman’s hair.
This is no novelty but a kind of subtraction
like the hard oak floors we sanded and stained
before we began
to wake apart. You can go back now
to whatever it is you were doing
that was so damned important.
About the Author
Ron Jones is from Iowa. He sometimes calls himself a poetry board
bum, a rake and a rambling boy. His writing has been published in
literary magazines, newspapers and online. He has two daughters and lives
with a Madonna.
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