Sample Poems by Jody Bolz
From "Shadow
Play"
On the train across Java
we slept in a knot:
my head in your lap,
your
head on my back,
two hundred miles
through the tropical dark
in shuddering third-class.
At every major stop,
a skirmish of shouted light--
vendors hawking tea and rice
to
sleep-drugged passengers--
receded in a rush,
the jasmine-scented silence
sweet and
abrupt.
When the station's speakers
keened their exit song,
the train lurched
on.
Whirr of palm and banyan,
gibbous moon, skewed night sky--
green stars above the
village mosque
jumped and scuttled by
in deranged constellations.
We stretched,
switched positions:
your hair red as rose stalks
against my faded dress,
my braids strict
shadows
on your moonlit back,
our fractured dreams resettling. . . .
Outside Bandung at
dawn,
I shook my buzzing limbs,
cracked our dusty window open
to mountain
air.
A boy wrapped in a shawl
shot past in the brightening field.
One child, then
another--
a horde of barefoot children
in tattered pastel sweaters
raced beside the tracks,
calling out for coins,
for candies,
falling far behind us
by the time we reached
their shanties: tin roofs
at the rail-bed's edge--
doorways set in sloping walls,
a
threshing floor,
an open sewer.
As our train slowed
a pregnant girl,
waist-long hair
undone,
stepped out of a hovel
fastening her sarong.
We passed her without speaking,
tugging at the taut string
of our marriage
as it rose over rice-fields,
climbing into
monsoon clouds,
swaying there--spiraling--
not some thing,
not a child's kite:
our
common life, flown
above another Asian city
in the year we made a home
out of our
bodies.
***
I'm shaping a mosaic
out of broken bits...
not exactly a
gift.
Not exact--
a waking dream of India,
brazen as a blue-skinned god
rank with
rotting marigolds
or silent on a riverbank:
the Hooghli in Calcutta--
sludge-gray, chest-deep water
blossoming with saris.
Young matrons bathe together,
an old man squats and
strains near
a woman filling copper jugs.
A bloated ox, stiff legs up,
slips by under
sail,
a vulture on its belly
coiled in slick entrails.
We linger on a bridge,
transfixed by
the blind beak
gently teasing white from pink.
The rotting vessel
slowly shrinks,
then
floats out of view.
What corpse am I
scavenging for
you?
***