Or Consequence

Only the wheat moved. I did not move not even my eyes. Say
that I was stunned, staring as if I had looked at the Medusa.
Looked impossibly. Looking could not make meaning.

Wind lifted my hair and I lifted my eyes. Leaves were golden, oak
I think. Fall I think (cerulean sky). My feet steadied as if
bound. Aren’t we bound at least by consequence?

To have turned things around. Lies truth and truth lies.
Within. Upon which so much.
The ochre fields bluing as shadows trailed

behind towering darkening clouds. Bringing to mind.
Bringing up.
Wind ruffling my dress, my eyes narrowing with water.

Cynthia Hogue
from her book Or Consequence
Red Hen Press, 2010

Used with permission of the poet.

This poem was catalogued in Poems and written by Cynthia Hogue. Bookmark the permalink.

About Cynthia Hogue

Cynthia Hogue has published seven collections of poetry. She taught in the MFA program at the University of New Orleans, served as director for the Stadler Center for Poetry at Bucknell University, and joined the Department of English at ASU as the Maxine and Jonathan Marshall Chair in Modern and Contemporary Poetry.

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