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Sunday, July 05, 2009

Rigoberto González reviews Helena Mesa

Though fire and water dominate the imagery, neither can exist without oxygen -- that is, without breath or pause. And in Mesa's poetics, each of these moments opens up into a world of making sense of "what is, what was" and what can be: "leaves raise their silver hems / to walk though puddles not yet formed."


Mechanics of Early Autumn

Migrant workers pick late tomatoes,
the rows half-tidy, the last before the men
pack and move on, leaving beehives
half-fallen from a tractor, combs empty.
Lilac fails yellowing grass. Steeples finger
the hammocked sky, insignificant rebellions
you would say, simple details like cracks in a mug
cast as sadness. Glaze cracks, china chips,
the day is not unraveling. And still
on the drive, leaves raise their silver hems
to walk through puddles not yet formed.

Helena Mesa

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