Judith Skillman
Fear and Trembling
The Flicker sings greensickness greensickness
When you surprise it from a branch
Beside the river. Nietzsche’s no longer
Sane, carted off to the asylum with ravings.
The sun doubles as a sun lamp
Beneath which you shower in hot water
As the hour passes, less and less
Your intimate. Quail forage for seeds
In your back, their quick beaks moving
Everywhere at once in hurry scurry,
back and forth, crests bobbing
As if royalty visited this wet place.
Leaves! The yellowing of that instinct
For summer, its glimpse of turquoise heaven.
Insects move into memory—you
Must live with ill health now, and autumn.
Because of the fall obsession and compulsion
Entwine thought. Each new braid proves
You’re a master, and on your skin blooms
A rash. Angry spots flare. Is it all for this—
The soul’s staircase lengthening—the ladder
Leading down?
Judith Skillman is the author of Came Home to Winter (Deerbrook Editions, 2019) and 15 other poetry collections. She has received grants from Artist Trust and the Academy of American Poets. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, Cimarron Review, Zyzzyva, We Refugees, and elsewhere. Visit judithskillman.com.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you enjoyed today’s poem, and you value the What Rough Beast series, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.