Carl Boon

Poem for a Friend
Now you must decide
how alone you are
and how alone
you ought to be.
Sanctimony aside,
the land opens, offers
ways to be in it—
perplexed or dull,
you must decide. Recall
the promises
you gave your father,
the shadow he supplied,
your turning away.
Shy, then, you went
into the world of men,
intrigue, and automobiles.
No one saw you tremble;
you amazed us,
your handling of blue
glazed mornings,
afternoons without tea.
You concealed stones
in your skirt
instead of gold,
slayed icons, long
encumbered states, boys
who were always falling.
No one heard you weep.
Look now—the clouds
cup the horizon.
The sea you swam
seeps against the rocks,
scarlet the light
this hour. I, too,
am deciding. I, too,
distrust the land.

Carl Boon lives in Izmir, Turkey, where he teaches courses in American culture and literature at 9 Eylül University. His poems appear in dozens of magazines, most recently Burnt Pine, Two Peach, Lunch Ticket, and Poetry Quarterly. He is also a 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee.