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By Martha Silano

For there is a dram.

For there is a farthing.

A bushel for your thoughts.

A hand for your withered heights.


For I have jouled along attempting

to quire and wisp.


For I have sized up a mountain’s meters,

come down jiffy by shake to the tune

of leagues and stones.


For once I was your peckish darling.


For once there was the measure

of what an ox could plow

in a single morning.


For once the fother, the reed, the palm.


For one megalithic year I fixed my gaze

on the smiling meniscus, against the gray wall

of graduated cylinder.


For once I measured ten out of ten

on the scale of pain.


For I knew that soon I’d kiss good-bye

the bovate, the hide and hundredweight.


For in each pinch of salt, a whisper of doubt,

for in each medieval moment, emotion,


like an unruly cough syrup bottle,

uncapped. For though I dutifully swallowed


my banana doses, ascended, from welcome

to lanthorn, three barleycorns at a time,


I could not tackle the trudging, trenchant cart.


For now I am forty rods from your chain and bolt.

For now I am my six-sacked self.


Source: Poetry (March 2015)

Poet Bio

Martha Silano has authored four books of poetry, including Reckless Lovely (2014) and The Little Office of the Immaculate Conception (2011), both from Saturnalia Books. 

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